


Children of a New Nation

by RedCoatsRedder



Series: Children of Changing Times [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/M, Fluff, George Washington is a Dad, Henry Laurens is a Good Dad, Light Angst, Maybe some angst, Other, Please read idk anymore, The Author Still Has No Idea What She's Doing, Thomas Jefferson is a Bit of a Pretentious Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:35:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCoatsRedder/pseuds/RedCoatsRedder
Summary: The sequel to Children of the Revolution! The Revolutionary Set is back in New York City, ready for grumpy lawyers, cabinet shenanigans, and more!





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander was sitting at the desk in his room when his father got the letter. 

He’d been living with the Washingtons since the end of the war, and they had become close over the year since the war’s end. And if he was being honest….it was the best time of his life. The rolling fields of the plantation and the river just a short ride away (he was still opposed to slavery, however, and the Washingtons had understood), and the evenings spent curled up next to his father in the library, reading long after night fell. 

He missed John, who was still far away in South Carolina. And Gilbert and Hercules, who went back up to New York City. They still wrote almost daily, but it wasn’t quite the same. Then came the day when the letter from New York arrived. The one addressed to George Washington. 

A light rapping noise sounded on the doorframe. “Hey, son. Can I come in?” 

“Yes.” 

Washington strode into the room and peered over his son’s shoulder at his writing. “What are you working on?” Quill still scratching on the paper, Alex responded, “An article about how the Articles of Confederation need revision. I’m going to send it anonymously to the printer. For some reason they won’t print anything by a sixteen year old.” 

His father sighed. “Well, good to hear you’re still paying attention to the government. I’ve just received a letter from them, actually. They want me to be president.” 

Alexander shot to his feet, excitement dancing in his eyes. Washington watched him, a smile playing slowly across his face. “Dad, that’s- wow, are you going to accept? You have to accept!” 

“I am not particularly looking forward to this, but after discussing it with your mother, I’ve decided to accept. And we’ve also decided that, if you’d like to, you can come with me. Don’t you have friends in New York?” 

He was going to see Gil and Hercules again. Alexander whooped and grinned at his father. “When do we leave?” 

“In one week.” 

He wrote letters to his friends, excitedly explaining the situation. Alexander had learned that they would be staying in a house called Number 3, Cherry Street. Incidentally, this was close to the Miller’s residence. 

When the messenger came to the door with another letter from New York, he was met not only by the former General (soon to be president), but his overly excited son, who shuffled the stack of papers in his arms and presented the man with three letters before dashing off again. 

The poor man looked at Washington helplessly. “Is he always like that?” 

Washington chuckled. “No. Sometimes he’s sleeping.” 

 

Gilbert came thumping down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him. “Bye Maman, bye Papa! I am going to meet Hercules!” 

Rebecca Miller called back, “Bye dear! Come back before it gets too dark! Say hi to Mr. Williams for your father and I!” 

As he raced through the streets of New York, dodging civilians, carriages, and the occasional wagon on its way to a market, he tightened his grip on the letter in his hand, from Alex in Virginia. It contained news, incredibly exciting news, that he was sure Hercules would want to see, if he didn’t already know. 

Skidding to a stop in front of the shop where Hercules and Matthew worked, he wrenched open the door and darted in. Matthew was fitting an elderly gentleman for a jacket. 

“Bonjour, Mr. Williams!” Gil called. “Is Hercules free?” Matthew nodded. “He’s just in the back room, Gilbert. He has received some exciting news. I daresay you know as well?” 

“Yes! It’s wonderful, is it not?”

Hercules was indeed in the back room, in the middle of sorting through an immense pile of fabrics that were spilling off their shelves, accumulating in drifts on the floor, and towering on top of cabinets. He looked up when his friend entered the room. 

“Gilbert! I was wondering if you were going to stop by today. I would have come to see you but Matthew needed help in the storage room. I got a letter from Alex, and you’ll never guess what it said!”

“He’s coming to New York! General Washington’s going to be the president of the United States!” Both boys spoke at the same time. 

“He told me that they’ll be staying in a house that is close to where the Millers live. If only John was coming up to New York, but he’s still in South Carolina…” 

Hercules grinned at that. “Well, actually… I didn’t know if you got his most recent letter yet. I got one from him this morning. Mr. Laurens is coming up to the city for a month or so to see if anyone would be interested in dealing directly with him for crops from his plantation. But after that, John’s coming to school up here. College. And Matthew got a letter from Mr. Laurens asking if John could stay with us at the shop while he attends school.” 

Gil felt his jaw drop a little. “No way. So we’ll all be together again, in New York? Just like we planned? I never thought that it would happen so soon; Hercules, are you certain?” 

“One hundred percent certain, Gil. Look, I have the letter right here.” 

 

Hercules had just woken up when Matthew presented him with a letter from John. He saw that Matthew himself had a letter as well, one from Mr. Laurens. Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper and read quickly. It looked like John had been rushing when he wrote; clearly he had some exciting news to share. 

His shoulder was healed fully, though it still hurt if he put too much strain on it, everyone was doing well down in South Carolina, he was coming up to New York with his father for business and then for school.

He was coming up to New York with his father for business and then for school. John was coming to New York. 

“Matthew! Guess what, John’s coming up to New York City!” 

The tailor was scribbling something on a piece of paper, but looked up at Hercules’s words. “I know. And Mr. Laurens is asking if he can stay with us while he attends school up here. I’m writing back to say yes, I assume that’s fine with you?” 

“Of course! When are they coming, did Mr. Laurens say?” 

“They’ll be coming up in time to see the new President get inaugurated.” 

Hercules paused. “They’re inaugurating a President? Who is it?” 

Matthew smiled and handed him a letter from Virginia. Alexander’s handwriting. “I thought you would have seen it in all the newspapers by now, but I know that you’ve been busy.” 

The letter said that General Washington had been asked to serve as the first president of the United States, and had accepted. Alexander had also written that he would be joining his father in New York. John and Alex were both coming up to New York. Hercules felt a smile break across his face. 

Matthew laughed at his expression. “Looks to me like the Revolutionary Set is getting back together. New York had better watch out. You four are going to blow this city away.” 

“Revolutionary Set?” 

“Yeah, John Miller came up with it one night back during the war. We figured it suited you boys pretty well.” 

Never mind the fact that there was apparently a nickname for the four of them. Hercules almost burst out of the door to go find Gilbert and tell him the good news, but Matthew called him back. “I know that you’ll undoubtedly want to go find your friend, but I could really use your help in clearing out the back room.” 

Hercules sighed, but went back to the room where they kept the fabric. Like always, it was a complete mess. Neither he nor Matthew possesed much in the way of organizational skills. “When I finish, can I go find Gilbert?” 

“Sure.” Matthew called back. Well at least he wouldn’t be stuck in the shop all day, if he could only manage the swamp of fabric before him. 

 

John’s shoulder had finally healed. The bullet wound had closed, and though it still hurt if he moved it too quickly or for any too strenuous activity, he could more or less use it as normal. And though it was nice to be home, back in South Carolina, he missed his friends more than he ever thought he would. 

His father sighed at the massive amount of correspondence that flowed between the four boys. They wrote enough that they received word from one another near daily, and considering the distance, that was quite an impressive feat. 

Then came the day that his father found him sitting outside, reading a book for a change. “Hey there John. I’ve got something to tell you.” 

Usually that wasn’t the best sign, but John still closed his book and gazed at his father expectantly. “Mr. Miller recommended to me that I try and sell some of the products from the plantation up in one of the large cities, and I decided to take his advice. I’m going up to New York City, for a month. And after that, if you wanted to stay in the city to attend school there, you could.” 

It took John a few moments to process everything his father had said. When it did sink in, he jumped up so fast he got vertigo. “No way. You mean it? This is so great, I have to write to Gilbert and Hercules and Alexander and tell them, I think that Alex was planning on going up to the city for school too, maybe we can go to the same place! That would be incredible.” 

Henry Laurens smiled slightly. “I was planning on getting us up there in time to see the Presidential inauguration. I mean, that’s something that will go down in history. It will be wonderful to see.” 

John looked up. “Who’s going to be President?” His dad snapped his fingers. “That reminds me, you got a letter from Virginia. It might help to clear up a few of your questions.” 

Washington. Washington was going to be president. And Alexander was accompanying him to New York, to attend school. They were going to be together again, all four of them, up in the greatest city in the world. John couldn’t hold back the silly smile that burst across his features. Except… he knew his father well. He wouldn’t stay in the city for longer than a few months. South Carolina was his home. What would John do when his father went back?

“Hey dad?” 

“What is it, John?” 

“Where am I going to stay while I go to school?” 

Turns out that his father had already worked most of the situation out. “Well, I’m staying in the city for a month. We’ll board at a inn or something. After that, I’ve written to Mr. Williams to see if you can stay with him and your friend Hercules.” 

It looked like John was on his way to the second adventure of his life.


	2. Chapter 2

The whole ride to New York Alexander had been unable to sit still, fidgeting excitedly in his seat. Finally, after several days of traveling, they were entering the city. Citizens crowded on the streets to eagerly wave as the coach passed. Washington calmly lifted his hand in response, while Alex ducked his head slightly, unsure of how the public would react. 

A young boy standing next to his father on the sidewalk tugged on his parent’s sleeve, pointing to Alexander. He waved enthusiastically. Alex could just catch the boy’s voice over the shouting crowd. 

“Hi mister Washington! Hi mister Washington’s son!” 

Alex smiled and waved back at the boy. 

The crowds didn’t abate until they came to a halt outside a house that, Alexander assumed, was Number 3 Cherry Street. And even then the poor coachman had to shoo the people out of the way just so they could make it to the door. Once they were safely inside, Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “Wow.” 

His father smiled slightly. “You might have to get used to that.” He shuddered. “I’m not sure I ever will though.” 

Stepping away from the door and further into their home for the next four years, Alexander looked around curiously. Washington waved a hand at him. “Go off and explore, son. Tell me what the rest of the place is like. Please try not to blow anything up, or get yourself killed.” 

The coachman, who had been watching the crowds from one of the windows, turned. “He has a history of that?” He eyed Alexander suspiciously. “Funny, you don’t really look all that threatening.” 

Washington chuckled. “Alex has never blown anything up. But I know that accidents tend to happen. Right, son?” He gave Alexander a stern look. 

Raising his hands in a gesture of innocence, Alex nodded. Then he turned and raced off to explore the house. 

It was lovely. The interior was beautifully decorated, and the rooms had windows that overlooked the streets. There was a small office with two desks pushed up against the walls, and a room set up like a library with books filling every shelf. There were three bedrooms, Alexander’s favorite being the one at the back of the house. 

There was a bed in one corner of the room, and a wardrobe. But what he really liked was the small alcove built into the window. Sunlight filtered in and made the room look peaceful and homey. 

When he emerged into the hallway, he almost bumped into his father, who had just come out of the neighboring room. “Alex, did you find one you liked?” 

“Yes, this one is nice.” He showed his father the room. Washington nodded. “Did you see the library already?” 

 

Gilbert had had a hard time sitting still after he received the news that his two friends were coming up to New York to join him and Hercules in the city. Rebecca entered his room one afternoon to find him bouncing excitedly on his bed. It was the only vent he could find for his energy since it had begun to rain a few moments before, therefore confining him to the house. 

“Hello Maman! I am so excited I just cannot bear it! Alexandre and John will be coming to New York any day now! Well, sometime before Monsieur Washington is inaugurated as the first president, so actually more like any moment! This is so exciting, I haven’t seen them in person since Yorktown, but we have written! Though that is not really the same, you know?” He rambled on and on, until Rebecca stopped him. 

“Gil, that’s actually why I came up here to talk to you. A messenger just came by the house, with a note for you. It’s from a certain Hamilton-Washington.” Her eyes sparkled. 

He ripped open the letter with such enthusiasm that he nearly tore the paper. Gilbert scanned the message quickly. “He is here! They just arrived in the city. Can I go see him? Please?” 

Rebecca glanced out the window. “Ask your father. If he says yes, then I’m fine with it as long as you wear a coat. We can’t have you falling ill.” Gil was out of the room before she finished her sentence. 

Mr. Miller was sitting in the parlour reading the newspaper. He was very fond of the newspaper, which covered everything from politics to shipping notices to new products in the local markets. When Gil came in he was deeply absorbed in an article about the upcoming presidential inauguration. 

“Papa! Alex has arrived in New York! Can I go see him? It’s been so long!” Gilbert begged. Mr. Miller set down his newspaper and looked up. 

“Did you ask your mother?” 

“Yes! And she told me to ask you, and she said that if you were fine with it she was fine with it, so can I please go visit Alexander?” Gilbert tried to keep his foot from frantically tapping. The fact of the matter was that when you haven’t seen someone dear to you for a very long time, once you finally have the chance to be reunited there is almost no keeping you from them. Mr. Miller knew this, and he understood. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t stay out too long; your mother wants us to eat earlier tonight. And wear a coat!” He called as Gil darted out into the hall to grab his boots. And of course his coat. 

As he ran through the streets of the city, heading for the address Alex had given him, Number 3 Cherry Street, he wondered briefly if things would be any different. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone and a lot can change in that time. But as he darted up to the handsome brick house, he put the thoughts out of his mind. 

Gil rapped sharply on the door, and stood patiently waiting. A young man opened it, a young man dressed in a hunter green waistcoat, his dark hair hanging loose about his shoulders. 

Alexander. 

His friend’s eyes widened and he took a step forward, stammering, “Gilbert? Gil? Is it- is it really you?” He stepped forward and embraced the other boy tightly. 

“Alex, oh my god, Alex, you’re finally here, it’s been forever.” Gilbert murmured as the two hugged on the front step. “We must go and tell Hercules, he will be ecstatic, and of course John’s due to arrive with Mr. Laurens any day now.” 

Alexander stepped back and gestured to the entryway. “Come inside, Gil, let’s stop standing out in the rain.” The door thudded shut behind them, and Gilbert took in his new surroundings. The house was beautiful, and it was warm, which was lovely after running through the rain.

They headed further into the home, going up a staircase and down a hall. Alex opened a door and led Gil into what he assumed was his bedroom. It was the complete opposite of Gil’s. The major, glaring difference was that it was relatively neat. Even though the desk was overflowing with paper and the bookshelves were practically groaning under the weight placed on them, the bed was made and the curtains were open. That was one similarity. Gilbert liked to leave the windows open to allow as much light in as possible. Though he tended to just leave the room how it was when he woke up. 

“Dad likes it when I’m at least a little organized.” Alexander explained. As if summoned by the sound of his name, Washington appeared in the doorway. 

“Hello there, son. Hello Gilbert. How have you been?” 

 

“Just fine, sir! Congratulations on the new position!” Gil chirped. 

Washington laughed softly. “Thank you, Gil. And please just call me Mr. Washington. You’re Alex’s friend and ‘sir’ feels odd now that the war is over.” 

“Ok Mr. Washington.” Gilbert tried the name out. Alexander turned to his father. “Hey Dad, can Gil and I go see Hercules?” 

Mr. Washington nodded. “Be back before dark. Stay safe boys. Have fun.” 

Gilbert turned to his friend. “Hercules is going to be so excited! We must go.” And with that, he grabbed Alexander by the wrist and pulled him out of the room, down the steps, and through the front door. 

 

Hercules hadn’t been expecting a knock on the door. It was raining out, so that usually meant not many people came into the shop. They had other things to worry about, like staying dry. But when a frantic knock was pounded out onto the wooden door, he shoved it open, wondering who it was. Clients didn’t typically knock. 

He was greeted with the elated grins of two of his closest friends. One, whom he saw as often as he could, and the other, whom he hadn’t seen in a year because Virginia is far from New York. 

“Alex! Is that you? Man, it’s been so long I missed you so much!” Hercules hugged his friend tightly. “You’re still small though.” 

“Herc… can’t breath… I missed you too… good to see you again.” Alexander gasped. Hercules let his small friend go and stood back from the door, letting both boys inside. Matthew walked out of the back room carrying a stack of fabric in his arms. He hadn’t yet noticed the three boys. Depositing his bundle on a table, he called over his shoulder, “Hercules, shut the door please, we don’t want any water to get near the cloth.” 

“Hi Matthew.” Alex called out. “You look well.” 

Matthew spun around, caught sight of Alexander, and grinned. “Alex! Long time no see. I heard from Hercules that you were coming up to New York but I didn’t know that it would be today! Well actually, that makes sense, you’d want to be here in time for the inauguration, which is in a week.” he amended. “By the way, tell your dad congratulations for me.” 

“Will do, Matthew.” Alex promised. Hercules led his friends upstairs to the flat above the shop where he and Matthew lived when they weren’t working. It had a nice view of the street below, and one could see the people going about their daily lives. 

The three boys sat on the bed and caught each other up on their lives. Hercules and Gilbert told Alex all about the happenings in New York, and in turn he described what was going on down in Virginia. 

“I missed you guys so much.” Alexander said, smiling as he lunged forward to hug his friends again. “When John gets here it’ll be just like old times. Except we won’t be at war.” 

Hercules stood and picked up the letter from John that was sitting on a shelf next to the other correspondence the boys had kept. “Actually, he says here that he and Mr. Laurens will be in the city on the twenty-fourth, and today’s the twenty-third, so he should be here tomorrow.” 

“WHAT?” Gil and Alex both shouted simultaneously. 

 

John was ready to go to New York. He and his dad had been traveling for days in a carriage up from South Carolina. It was nearly impossible for him to sit still for such a long time, but he managed. 

New York was much the same as John had remembered it. Loud, crowded, and very interesting. Strains of different languages could be heard from the streets, along with the everyday noise of the city. Ships in the harbor flew their flags proudly, and their crews scurried about tying and untying ropes, doing what they had to do to get the vessels ready for the sea. 

His father picked a boarding house that was near the heart of the city. While he spoke with the owner about their lodging, John took the opportunity to look around. The place was nice. It wasn’t too crowded and it was clean. 

Their rooms faced a large bustling square. Henry Laurens immediately began unpacking their things, inspecting the space, and scowling at the noise coming from the square. 

“Hey Dad-” John didn’t even finish his sentence when Henry said, “Yes, yes. You can go out and find your friends. I’m sure they’ll be just as overjoyed to see you as you are to see them.” 

So that was how John ended up wandering the streets of New York City, which is not something you should do alone when you are unfamiliar with the place. 

He was on the verge of asking one of the strangers on the street for directions when he heard someone call his name. 

“John! John, over here!” 

There, standing outside a tailor’s shop, were his three friends. Alexander, still short, dressed in dark green with his hair loose about his shoulders. Gilbert, looking even taller in his dark violet gold-trimmed waistcoat, hair still pulled up in a puff atop his head. Hercules dressed in navy with his blue bandanna still secured about his head. 

After at least three minutes of passionate hugging, the newly reunited four boys were walking the streets of New York City, pointing out various locations as they passed. Gil’s home, Hercules and Matthew’s shop, the street where Alex and Washington were staying, and other points of interest. (Read: places to get themselves into more adventures.)

“We’re back in business, boys.” John remarked. 

New York City will never be ready for the Revolutionary Set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, second chapter! I don't know how frequent updates will be but I'm shooting for once a week. Leave a comment or kudos please!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Presidential Inauguration!

The day, April 30th, brought with it much excitement throughout not only the city, but the entire country. Today was the start of a new era for the world. The first president of the United States of America was being inaugurated today, at Federal Hall, in New York City. 

And Alexander Hamilton-Washington could not sit still. 

“Son, if you keep tapping your foot like that you’ll wear a hole in the floor.” his father remarked that morning as they were eating breakfast. 

“How are you not nervous?” his son demanded. “You’re the one about to become the first leader of a brand new nation!” 

Washington chuckled. “Alex, have you considered that I am nervous, but just better at hiding it than you are?” At his son’s sheepish grin, he smiled and added, “Oh, by the way, you’ll be standing next to me for the ceremony, so try not to fidget too much in front of the entire city.” 

Alexander paled. “What?” A look of excitement slowly began to spread over his face. “That’s… actually really awesome!” He got to watch history being made, first hand. 

Still, when the flurry of preparations began, his nerves began to return. Throughout it all, Washington stayed calm, with only the barest hint of anxiety behind his facade. Alexander suspected it was for his benefit. 

The streets were so packed with people that they were moving along at the same pace as many of the pedestrians, much to the driver’s dismay. The horses tossed their heads, not liking being around such a large crowd. After much shouting and (some) cursing, they managed to get to Federal Hall. 

If it was even possible, there were somehow even more people crowded around the steps, in front of the building, and a few were even watching from their windows. Alex and his father hurried up the steps, the cheers of the people surging like a wave behind them. 

The silence inside the building was a relief. A man hurried over to them, one whom Washington seemed to be previously acquainted with. 

“This is my son, Alexander.” His father placed a hand on his shoulder, ushering him forward. “Alex, this is Robert Livingston, the Chancellor of New York.” 

Livingston extended his hand. “A pleasure to meet you, young man. I’ll be the one to administer the oath of office.” Alexander shook his hand. “Likewise, sir.” 

A man that he didn’t recognize came into the room. “It’s time. Come on, let’s go.” The small party hurried to follow the man up to what Alexander assumed was the balcony. Washington bent down slightly to whisper in his ear. “That’s John Adams. He’s the Vice President.” 

The doors opened, and they stepped outside. Alex’s eyes widened in shock. The entire square below was filled with what must have been the entire population of New York City, along with however many had traveled up from other parts of the country. The crowd shouted and cheered, until Livingston raised a hand for silence. They took their places, and the inauguration began. 

Alex was standing slightly behind his father, on his right side. Livingston began to speak. 

“Do you, George Washington, solemnly affirm that you will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and to the best of your ability preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States?” 

 

Gilbert woke up that day with sunlight poking its brilliant head through a crack in the curtains. He rolled over and buried himself in the blankets with a moan, before remembering that today was a very important day. 

Shooting up out of bed, he darted around his room, getting dressed at a speed that surprised even himself. Gil was in the hallway before he buttoned the final button on his waistcoat. “Maman! Papa! Today is the inauguration!” 

Mr. Miller, who was definitely not a morning person, stumbled out of his and Rebecca’s bedroom with a yawn and weary eyes, still in his dressing gown. “Gilbert, the inauguration isn’t until noon. It’s perhaps only six thirty, at the latest. Can’t you go back to bed?” 

“Sorry, Papa!” Gilbert trilled. “I am already up, and the sun has risen, so we must rise!” 

This enthusiastic statement prompted a sigh and a slight chuckle from Mr. Miller. “That might be true for you, but I’m going back to bed.” He turned and plodded back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

Unfortunately for poor Mr. Miller, both his wife and son shared the same idea. Rebecca was already up and ready to go. Gil could hear her chiding Mr. Miller as he frantically hurried to catch up with the rest of his family. 

Not twenty minutes later they were walking towards Federal Hall, joining the massive flow of people that streamed along every road and alley. Gilbert wondered if the entire city was turning up to the inauguration, probably with more than a few others from different states. He craned his neck, trying to catch sight of John or Hercules over the tide of humanity. 

When they reached Federal Hall, there were even more people crowded in the square before the building. The few carriages that were trying to cut a path through the crowd were hopelessly ensnared by the sheer number of people. One in particular succeeded, its occupants disembarking at the foot of the hall’s stairs, accompanied by the cheering of the crowd. 

“I think,” Mr. Miller remarked, “that the soon to be President has just arrived.” Gilbert could just see two figures hurrying up the steps, one of them unmistakably Alexander’s small figure, dwarfed next to Washington. 

As they waited for the ceremony to begin, everyone just milled around, conversing with those around them. The hum of excitement was in the air. 

“Hey! Millers! Over hear!” A familiar voice shouted. Gil looked around, and spotted Matthew waving his arm in the air, a (somewhat disgruntled) Henry Laurens by his side. And next to them stood John and Hercules. 

The three of them hurried to meet up with the other four. “Rebecca!” Matthew grinned. “It’s been a while! How are you?” 

Rebecca smiled back, and placed a hand on her stomach. “Eight months pregnant, and everything’s going fine. How’s your tailoring business been going? And what about you, Mr. Laurens? How is everything back down south?” 

While the adults talked, John, Gil, and Hercules spoke amongst themselves. “I think Alex is with Mr. Washington.” Gilbert mentioned. “I saw them on the steps.” 

Hercules was about to add something when a roar of cheering expanded over the crowd. Turning to see what the commotion was about, the three caught sight of Washington standing on the balcony of the hall with a few other men, and, of course, Alexander. 

 

John added his voice to the wave of cheers cresting over the crowd. Washington looked out over the crowd, and, even though John knew he couldn’t see him, he waved up at the man. The President was dressed in a overcoat of dark red, and there was a sword hanging at his side. He looked every bit the once- General and now leader of the nation. 

One of the men, whom John did not recognize, raised his hand for silence. A hush descended over the people gathered in front of the hall, in sharp contrast to the sound from just a moment before. Then, the ceremony began. 

The unfamiliar man opened a book (John couldn’t tell what it was from such a distance), and Mr. Washington placed a hand upon the page. The man began to speak. 

“Do you, George Washington, solemnly affirm that you will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and to the best of your ability preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States?” 

Washington stared straight back at the man. “I do.” he said in a calm, firm voice. He bent to- well, John couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, the distance was too great- but when he stood up, the man with the book shouted to the crowd, “Long live George Washington, President of the United States!” 

John added his voice to the rest of the crowd’s shouts, and a salute of thirteen guns echoed over the people. Everyone in the city was celebrating the beginning of a new era, starting with the birth of a new country. 

 

Hercules no longer had a voice. Like the rest of the crowd, he had cheered enthusiastically for their new President, something which his voice was apparently not used to. Matthew was not much worse off than he was. 

He, John, and Gilbert had scanned the crowd for any sign of Alex, but they hadn’t seen him amidst the turmoil. Mr. Miller explained that Washington would be giving an inaugural address in the Senate chamber, something which Alexander would probably be expected to attend. 

Despite the unexpected consequences of witnessing the inauguration, Hercules was happy he’d witnessed it. It was history in the making, he was sure of it. For now, however, he’d be content with something to soothe his throat. 

None of the four boys could have predicted the events that came next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I researched the inauguration and yes, Washington really did wear a dark red overcoat and a sword to the inauguration. It is about as accurate as I could get, but forgive any inaccuracies!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander has to go to a dinner party...how's that going to go?

“A party?” Alexander looked up at his father, aghast. “When?” 

Washington glanced over at him. “The seventh. And yes, you have to go. It won’t be bad. John Adams will be there, maybe you and him can talk.” Oh yes. Marvelous. A stuffy, overly fancy party in which the only person whom he might be able to talk to was the vice president and his father. Hooray. 

And thus commenced the preparations for the event. Alex discovered that there was far more to planning a party than simply getting dressed and going. His father was bombarded constantly with details about the thing, on top of the steady torrent of letters that flowed onto his desk about the country. In Alexander’s opinion, dinner parties were something that should be hosted maybe twice a month at the most. Unfortunately most of the political community seemed to disagree. 

When the day of the ball finally rolled around, Alex pulled on a dark green jacket, waistcoat, and breeches. The color stood out starkly against the white of his stockings and cravat. Gazing in the mirror, he paused to smooth his hair back rather self-consciously. 

His father was waiting downstairs, dressed in his own fancy attire. “Ready, son?” 

Heaving a sigh, Alexander replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

The house where the ball was being held wasn’t too far. A short fifteen minute drive. The whole way there was mostly silent, with his father gazing out the window and humming softly under his breath. 

Alexander had been nodding off slightly when the carriage jolted to a stop. His head snapped up, and outside the window he saw a house ablaze with light. Every window glowed with light and music softly wafted from the building. 

Giving Washington a plaintive look, Alexander pleaded, “Maybe you can just go in without me?” In response his father gripped his shoulder firmly and tugged him gently to the door. 

A man answered the door, inclining his head. “President Washington.” Looking down his nose at Alex, he asked, “And who might you be?” 

“Alexander Hamilton-Washington. Pleasure to meet you.” Alex took some smug satisfaction in seeing the man’s disbelief. 

When they entered the ballroom, silence fell, then a thunderous storm of clapping. Washington stood silent and tall, bending his head ever so slightly in acknowledgement. Alexander stood back a bit, waiting to see how the room would react. 

He breathed a soft sigh of relief when no one seemed to question his presence, only come up to him and his father and offer congratulations. 

The sound of his name drew him back into the conversation. 

“John, Abigail, this is my son, Alexander. Alexander, this is John and Abigail Adams.” His father gestured to the man Alex had seen at the inauguration and the woman beside him. 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Alexander smiled politely. 

“Why, isn’t he sweet? How old is he, George?” Adams grinned jovially. He seemed to forget that Alexander was perfectly capable of speaking. 

His father smiled tightly. He didn’t respond. Alexander took it on himself to answer the question. 

“I’m sixteen, Mr. Adams.” Alexander bit out. Washington looked proud. He was clearly trying not to look proud, but he definitely looked proud. 

Adams’s expression quickly became a lot less friendly. 

The party went for the most part as predicted. There was some dancing, which Alexander took part in gladly. Of course, during dinner things became a bit more interesting. 

One thing that Alex quickly took note of was that his father was...drumming his knife and fork against the table. Washington quietly tapped out a rhythm, which earned some strange looks from John Adams, who was seated to his right. Alexander was on his left. And it took a lot of self-control to keep his sudden urge to burst out laughing in check. 

Afterwards, Alexander would swear that it really was an accident. He hadn’t meant to do it at all. Washington would give him that knowing look, and say he believed him, but they would both know better. 

Alexander had politely excused himself for a brief moment to get some air. It was far too stuffy in the dining room. He had only meant to duck outside for a moment to the small garden behind the house, but apparently fate had other plans for him. 

To get to the door, he had to walk behind John Adams’s chair. Which really shouldn’t have been a problem, save for the fact that the owner of the house happened to be fond of cats. There were three of them. The animals were supposed to be kept elsewhere during the party, but cats being cats, they always find a way to escape. One of them had made its way to the dining room. 

The guilty cat was a tawny brown color that was very similar to that of the floorboards. It was crouching behind the vice president’s chair, tail flicking casually, unaware of the havoc its presence was about to wreak. 

Pushing his chair back, Alexander headed for the door at the far end of the room, taking no notice of the cat in his path. Because of this, he tripped over the poor animal, which let out an indignant meow and raced off. 

To keep from falling on his face, Alex flung an arm sideways to grab hold of something, anything, to support him. He intended to grab the back of Adams’s chair. But then again, things rarely ever go as planned. 

The object that Alexander ended up grabbing was much too soft to be the wooden chair. What’s more, he could feel it sliding backwards, which wouldn’t have been something that the chair should’ve been able to do, what with the man currently occupying it. 

When he had regained his balance and composure, Alexander glanced down at the object in his hand. It was most definitely not the back of a chair. 

He had grabbed John Adams’s wig, and pulled it nearly off his head, exposing the man’s brown hair beneath. Hurriedly letting go and brushing his hand down the front of his waistcoat, Alexander stood stock still. No one made a sound. 

Then, Abigail Adams snickered slightly. She was clearly trying to hold back gales of laughter. All around the table, more smiles slowly emerged and titters began to break out. Soon, nearly everyone except for Adams and Alexander were laughing. 

 

Save for Washington. He was pinching the bridge of his nose with a fondly exasperated expression. Alexander grinned sheepishly and awkwardly tapped the vice president on the shoulder. “Sorry about that, Mr. Adams, sir.” 

The man glowered at him and huffed as he straightened his wig. Thankfully, for all parties the rest of the evening passed smoothly, with no more incidents involving cats and wigs. Sometime around midnight, Washington and Alexander climbed back into a carriage to head home. 

“You know, I do believe you have a talent for getting yourself into trouble, son.” Washington remarked offhandedly, examining his fingernails. 

Alexander blushed to the roots of his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS ACCURATE PLEASE JUST EMBRACE THE CHAOS. 
> 
> Reviews and kudos make my week!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Jefferson's coming home....

The year 1789 would prove eventful in many ways. But the one that would stand out most in the minds of the Revolutionary Set would be the return of a certain Virginian. 

Thomas Jefferson was coming home. 

Gilbert had met the man a few years ago when he was in France, and had received an impression of bright magenta, frilly coats, rather puffy hair, and generally being very loud. Though he had liked the man at first, he soon became a little overwhelming. 

But the first member of the quartet who would have the honor of meeting Thomas Jefferson would be Alexander. Since he was the most involved in government, heels often the first to get caught up in these things, which he would immediately relay to his three friends. 

Upon this occasion he had been wandering the halls of the new government offices, exploring while his father and the members of his cabinet set up. He’d met several new people, and had become re-acquainted with the vice president, John Adams. They still disliked each other. Strongly and with a passion.

But one day, Alexander was roaming through a hallway he hadn’t yet explored. It held a number of rooms that were being converted into offices for members of the cabinet. Out of one door came a man taller than himself, wearing a bright magenta knee-length coat. He had hair not unlike Gilbert’s, that is to say, very puffy, but instead of keeping it tied back it was loose around his face. When he spoke, he also had a very southern accent. 

“Hey you, boy, would you take a message to the President for me? Just tell ‘em that Mr. Jefferson gave it to you and they’ll let you right in.” The man said absently, holding out a piece of paper. 

Alexander dubiously took the paper and began to unfold it, only to be stopped by the man, Mr. Jefferson, grabbing his wrist. “That’s for me and the President to see, and you to keep your prying eyes away from.” he snapped. 

Rolling his eyes but leaving the paper folded, Alexander headed for the door. “He’ll probably tell me anyways if I ask.” he murmured. 

“What was that?” Jefferson called back to him. 

Because Alexander could be rather petty at times, something his friends and family knew very well by now, he smirked. “The President will probably tell me if I ask; he isn’t really in the habit of keeping secrets from his son.” 

................................

The next member of the Revolutionary Set to meet the new arrival was John Laurens. He and the other three boys had been spending the afternoon wandering the streets of New York. When a storm had struck, they’d rushed to the closest familiar building and dashed inside. 

And they promptly ran straight into a tall man in a long pink coat. 

The man stumbled back, as the boys apologized. Well, Gil and Hercules did most of the apologizing. Alexander glowered at the man like he knew him already, and he glowered right back. John just looked on in confusion. 

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Jefferson, we’ll just be going now.” Alexander all but spat and began to head for the door. Gilbert, however, had perked up at the man’s name. 

“Monsieur Jefferson, you have returned to America! It is good to see you again.” 

Jefferson stared at Gilbert for a minute, blinking, as realization dawned on his face. “Why, Marquis de Lafayette! I had no idea you were still on this side of the ocean. I thought you had returned to France after the war ended.” 

“No, I made the decision to stay here, in America, with my friends and my new family.” Gilbert beamed back at John, Alex, and Herc. John smiled back, Hercules waved, and Alexander continued to glower at Jefferson, who returned it with a haughty look. 

Politely smiling at the rest of them, Jefferson extended a hand. “And who might the rest of you be?” 

John shook the offered hand. “I’m John Laurens.” 

“Hercules Mulligan.” 

“Ah, how wonderful. And of course I’ve already met you, Alexander.” Jefferson straightened his lapels. “Now, I’m afraid I must be going, important government business to attend to. Good day, boys.” And with that, he swept out of the room in a swirl of pink. 

Silence fell over the room until Hercules spoke. “So, who else thinks that that guy is a little bit overwhelming?” 

Alexander scoffed, John snickered, and Gilbert raised a hand to his mouth to hide his smile. 

...........................

Gilbert had met the man at a party back in France a few years prior. During the war. 

It had been a fancy and overly stuffy affair, with lots of fine wines and champagne. Dancing, too. Gilbert did not like to dance. One of his more well-kept secrets was the little mishap that had occurred when Marie Antoinette herself had asked him to dance. He’d been nervous, and had promptly tripped and made a fool of himself. To this day the memory still made him shudder. 

Jefferson had been talking to a few other people in the room, and when Gil had ducked past, he’d grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the conversation. Gilbert had received the impression that everyone had been slightly drunk, but it had been fun. The talking, at least, not the party. 

So when they had run into the man in the government offices he had been surprised and pleased to see him again. The only thing that troubled him was that Alexander and Mr. Jefferson already appeared to be at each other’s throats. Some sort of prior disagreement, probably over politics. 

Well, he was a decent peacemaker, wasn’t he? Perhaps he would be able to settle the budding feud between his friend and the newly-returned Virginian. 

..............................

Say what you want about politicians, Hercules could tell that this Thomas Jefferson was a bit of a pretentious man. Sure, he wrote the Declaration of Independence, which was amazing, and he admired him for that. Only problem was, the man was downright cocky. He reminded Herc almost of Charles Lee, though he was admittedly less spiteful. The only thing to do now was to keep Alex and John from going at the man constantly. Their beliefs contradicted in nearly every way. 

With a sigh, he followed his three friends as they left the room. Maybe the war was over, but there were certainly still enemies for them to fight with. At least there would be less bloodshed this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait everyone! I had a lovely two week stint at band camp, and was recovering from the emotional trauma caused by the Final Problem.... Sherlock fans know what I'm talking about. *wink wink*


	6. Evangeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again...

Rebecca Miller had a child. Gilbert had a sister. 

 

A beautiful little sister, with Mr. Miller’s kind eyes, and Mrs. Miller’s mother’s name. Evangeline Miller. 

 

Gilbert had been woken by frantic shouts to go fetch a doctor. In a stupor, he’d tugged on his boots and raced into the dark streets. Banging on the doctor’s door, speaking in a fractured mix of French and English, he’d all but dragged the man to the Miller house. 

 

He’d been told to wait outside, which he did. Gil tapped his foot and paced anxiously. The cries from inside were joined by another voice. When he was called in, he came nervously. 

 

But once he was inside Gilbert couldn’t contain his bubbling happiness. Mrs. Miller held in her arms a beautiful little girl, who blinked up at him and grasped his finger when he gently reached it out. 

 

“Look, Evangeline, it’s your big brother. Gilbert, this is your little sister.” Rebecca was tired but her voice was strong. Gilbert watched with wide eyes. The baby girl giggled and moved her small hand to grasp at his hair. 

 

Once the initial shock had set in, Gil couldn’t stop celebrating. And by celebrating, he meant verbally expressing his joy at nearly every opportunity. One time, a few days after Evangeline was born, he and Mr. Miller went to a clerk’s office to settle a few legal matters (well, Gilbert went because he needed fresh air, according to Rebecca). 

 

The poor clerk behind the desk had not been expecting to add an over-excited French teenager to his list of clients, but there he was. 

 

“I just cannot believe it, monsieur, I have a sister! Oh, if you could see her I know you’d love her as much as I do already, because she is just so adorable! Right, Papa?” He beamed. 

 

Mr. Miller smiled back at his son. “Exactly, Gil. Anyways,” he said, turning back to the clerk. “We’ll take our leave, let you continue your work. Have a nice day.” 

 

A few days later, Gilbert went to share the good news with his three friends. 

...   
  


Alexander answered the knock at the door, fully expecting another one of his father’s coworkers from the government. Hopefully not Jefferson. Never again Jefferson. 

 

He was not expecting to see his friend all but bouncing up and down on the front step, then hurl himself forward into a hug and start ranting excitedly in French. 

 

“J'ai une soeur! Une soeur! Elle s'appelle Evangeline et je l'aime! Mon ami je suis si heureux!” Gilbert went on, hugging Alex as tight as he was able. Since Gil was pretty strong, this was very tight. And it was cutting off Alexander’s breathing. 

 

“Gil, c'est merveilleux! Je suis si content pour toi! Mais pouvez-vous s'il vous plaît laisser aller vous êtes écraser mes poumons.” Alexander gasped, trying to loosen his friend’s hold. 

 

Gilbert let go, but still continued to beam with pure joy. 

 

Washington strolled down the stairs. “Alexander, what’s going on, son? Oh, hello, Gilbert. You look excited. What’s happened?” He glanced back and forth between the two boys. 

 

“Mademoiselle Miller has had her baby! A girl, my sister, named Evangeline!” Gil’s face split into a smile so wide it could’ve outshone the sun. 

 

Needless to say, the two Washingtons were nearly as excited as Gilbert. Alexander was already scribbling a letter to his mother, while his father insisted that Gil give the Millers his congratulations and best wishes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait and the crappy chapters. I WILL NOT EVER ABANDON THIS just stick it out with me guys.


	7. Cabinet Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ehehehe guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, who's ready for a cabinet meeting?

Later Alexander would vehemently deny the entire incident. But everyone who was there knew it was true and even a few who weren’t. It had started out innocently enough, but of course when any of the Revolutionary Set were involved, things were bound to take a turn for the interesting. 

And when one invites all four of them to come witness a meeting between the new nation’s very first Presidential cabinet, well, things are bound to become very interesting. 

That hadn’t even been the plan at first. It was just that with a heat wave overtaking the city and any sane person remaining indoors, the four were starting to get a little stir crazy. You can’t just keep four adolescent boys inside for that amount of time. It doesn’t end well. 

Because of this, they’d gone outside simply to relocate to another building. Before, they had been at Alex’s house. Now, with the closest building that was the most likely to be cooler than the surrounding houses being the government offices, that was where the four ended up. 

John couldn’t stop himself from glancing around as they walked through the entrance of the building. It was definitely a relief from the oppressive heat of the outdoors. Alexander seemed to know where he was going as the other three followed him through the maze of corridors. 

There was one man, in a long pink coat, that John recognized even from a distance. Thomas Jefferson. Of course the man was here. He works here, remember? His mind supplied. Knowing it was better to keep Alexander from seeing the man and very possibly starting a civil war in this very corridor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hercules discreetly raise a finger to his lips. 

“Right in here.” Alex was saying to Gilbert. “We can hang out in here for now; there’s a cabinet meeting so Dad won’t be back for at least two hours.” 

“You know, I would have thought that you’d love to go watch politicians scream at each other for a few hours.” John remarked. “Why aren’t we in that room now?” 

Alexander scowled at the ground and kicked at the leg of the desk (the President’s desk!). “Long story.” 

Hercules and John exchanged a knowing glance, while Gil perched on the edge of the desk and placed his elbows on his knees. “Do go one, petit lion. We have, as you said, at least two hours and I really want to hear this.” 

Throwing himself into one of two carved chairs in the room, Alexander sighed. “Basically, I was told to watch, but then Jefferson said something unbelievably stupid, like he always does, and how could I be expected to just observe? I mean, I had to say something. Come on, guys, if you’d had heard the nonsense he was spewing, you would have done the exact same thing.” He glowered up at them, probably with what he considered “righteous fury”. 

 

Hercules was certain his friends were all crazy. Unfortunately, this meant he was probably also crazy. Sitting in the President’s office, listening to Alexander tell them the story of the time he called out his father’s secretary of state in front of the entire cabinet, he knew for certain. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. “What did you say to him?” 

Dad friend-ness activated. Alexander looked up sheepishly, then his gaze sort of drifted off to the side. “Let’s just say that I told him exactly where he could stick his ridiculous opinions.” 

And knowing Alexander, this meant he’d probably told an important political figure to shove his opinions up his ass. To hell with it all. 

Hercules decided to make a mental note to further his efforts to keep Alexander away from Jefferson. It was best for the country and probably the rest of the world if the two could be kept from starting any other arguments. 

Unfortunately this resolve would be short-lived, because at that moment, President Washington came rushing into his office, looking a tad flustered. 

“Ah, boys. What are you doing here? You know what, never mind. It’s not important, I hope.” His face fell suddenly. “Oh, for god’s sake, Alexander, you are sixteen. You shouldn’t be getting into petty fights with men twice your age. Even if Wolcott agrees with you, Jefferson is an official member of my cabinet, and you should show him some degree of respect.” 

“Dad, no!” Alexander flapped his hand frantically. “I promise we didn’t get in trouble. It’s just really hot outside, is all. We came in here to get away from the heat, and sort of wound up in your office. I promise that John, Gil, and Herc didn’t have anything to do with it! It was my idea, we can go!” 

Washington looked considerably relieved. “Well, in that case, how about you boys come along and watch the meeting? I’m sure if you promise to behave yourselves, Jefferson and his friend Mr. Madison won’t mind. Plus, it would ease my mind knowing I could keep an eye on you.” 

John and Gilbert nodded enthusiastically. Hercules repressed a worried sigh, but nodded as well. Alexander looked… odd, like wanted to go to the meeting, but at the same time knew that it would be difficult to refrain from getting involved. 

Approximately thirty seconds later, when the four boys and the President were walking through the doors of the meeting room, and they could hear the voices seeping through the wood of the heavy doors, Jefferson’s southern drawl rising above the rest, did Hercules realize that this was either a splendid way to spend an afternoon, or the scene that would lead to a battle of verbal wit at best or a civil war at worst. 

 

Gil was utterly floored by the action that was taking place in the room. People hurried about, gathering paper, quills, and ink, rushing to take their places at their desks as the President entered. And the looks of surprise and confusion that flitted across their faces as they saw the four teenagers trailing behind him. A few had smirks on their faces, no doubt recognizing Alexander from the previous cabinet meeting. 

Alex had his head held high. He met Jefferson’s gaze and returned the sneer with a glare of his own. Gilbert shot daggers at the man as he sat down. 

And just like that, the cabinet meeting began. 

The topic of discussion was state’s debts, and a tax program that was being proposed by the secretary of treasury, Oliver Wolcott (though the four boys knew that Alex was responsible for much of the planning, Wolcott was actual secretary and therefore the one who got to present it to the cabinet). 

“Our debts are paid, I’m afraid, don’t tax the south, ‘cause we’ve got it made in the shade.” Jefferson snarked. “In Virginia we plant seeds in the ground; we create, you just want to move our money around. This financial plan is an outrageous demand and it’s too many damn pages for any man to understand!” 

He continued on in the same vein for another minute or so. A few people were nodding their heads, like they were starting to agree with the Southerner. Gil was so absorbed in the debate, watching the secretary of treasury, who was relaxed in his chair, giving a meaningful glance to someone in the audience. He didn’t look too concerned about the possibility of the debt plan not passing. 

It was far too late to do anything when Gil realized he’d been directing his gaze towards the wrong person. He should have been watching Alexander. 

Mr. Wolcott got to his feet, brushed some non-existent dust off of his waistcoat, and cleared his throat. “Well, good people, I think that Secretary Jefferson has made a very nice speech. Now, I think he’s completely wrong, of course. Allow me to turn things over to my young self-proclaimed ‘anger translator’, who is so clearly itching to say something.” He gestured...towards Alex. 

Who shot to his feet and began with the lovely, polite line of, “That was a real nice declaration, welcome to the present, you’re running a real nation!” 

Gilbert saw Hercules bury his head in his hands, (though he could still see his eyes peeking out from behind the gap in his fingers) and John’s attempts to muffle his silent laughter. 

Dammit, petite lion. 

 

Alexander really couldn’t say what happened in those moments. All he recalled, with clarity, was Wolcott gesturing for him to say something (honestly, that guy was great and all, but if he just had a few more, better, ideas, then the country could be so, so great...but that wasn’t important) and him rising to his feet. 

Somewhere along the line he and Jefferson began an insult battle, at the top of their voices. He also recalled his dad’s face paling, and his friends’ delighted expressions, when he shouted, “Turn around, bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe fits!” in response to one of Jefferson’s taunts. 

And then it had all fizzled out. His father had risen to his feet, shouting, “Excuse me? Madison, Jefferson, take a walk. Alexander, take a walk. Gentlemen, we will reconvene after a brief recess. Alexander!” 

This was right about the time when it registered with him that he’d done something rather ill-advised. And by that, he meant incredibly stupid. “Sir?” Even though Alexander rarely ever called his father ‘sir’ anymore, it still felt more natural in that moment than anything else.

Washington pointed to the door. “A word?” 

There is nothing more embarrassing than having your father glare at you, while you walk past your mortal enemy trying to maintain the last shred of your dignity, even though they’re snickering and not really helping, with your best friends looking concerned in the background but being smart enough not to risk their lives in this situation. 

Alexander knew he was in for it the moment the door shut behind them. 

“Alexander Hamilton-Washington, what on earth were you thinking?” His voice was laced with mostly frustration, and a bit of anger. “No, don’t answer. You probably weren’t. In fact, how about you stay silent? I know you and Jefferson don’t get along, and I know that it’s unlikely you ever will. But all I am asking from you is for you to try and be civil. Don’t rise to taunting; be the better man. This is the second time this has happened, and it’s the second time too much. You’re my son, please at least stop and think how your behavior might reflect on me. Alright, son?” Washington finished his speech with a hand pressed to his forehead. 

Dipping his head, because honestly, his father was terrifying when he was upset, Alex quietly replied, “Yes sir.” 

Washington sighed. “And for God’s sake, Alexander, don’t call me sir.” 

“Okay, Dad.” 

… 

“Dude, what were you thinking? I mean, that was awesome, but still, what were you thinking?” Hercules berated him when he met them outside the meeting room. Granted, he was smiling, but he was still lecturing. 

Alex grinned at his friend. “I wasn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FIRST DAY OF SCHOOOOOL

Time went on. After the events of the cabinet meeting, Alex was effectively banished from the offices for a while. But that was alright, because a new occupant of the four boys’ time had appeared.

 

School.

 

Gilbert and Hercules had both decided to join John and Alexander in their educational pursuits. Through a lot of talking, persuasion, and a slight bit of bragging (okay a lot of bragging) the four boys were effectively enrolled in King’s College.

 

Classes started the next day.

 

Alexander, for one, was ready. He’d hounded after all the professors, asking them about their lecture topics, how long they’d been in the profession, and basically just annoying the living daylights out of them. He hadn’t yet found one that would be able to keep up with his boundless energy and intelligence.

 

The day they started classes turned out to be a miserably rainy and dismal one. Tucking anything that could suffer water damage under their coats, the four boys hurried to campus. Unfortunately, each one had a different place to be first. Parting ways, they headed to the first class.

 

Alex opened the door of a lecture hall. Inside, a small gathering of other young men (all appearing to be older than him) and a professor, a tall man with an impressive beard (who was most definitely older than him). They turned to look at him as he walked inside.

 

“Good morning. I’m Alexander W-Hamilton. I’m here for a class on Latin history? I am in the correct room, yes?” He said this all very fast, while extending a hand. He and his father had thought it might be best if he went as Hamilton at school for the time being. Just as a precaution.

 

The professor gave a grim sort of impersonation of a smile. “You’re in the right room, Mr. Hamilton, but I think you might be in the wrong school. You look a bit young, why, you can’t be more than thirteen!” The others in the class giggled like schoolboys (oh wait a minute...they were).

 

“No, I don’t think so, sir. This is King’s College, isn’t it? You would be Professor Richardson, wouldn’t you?” Alex offered his own smile back. “And I’m sixteen, sir.”

 

_ Ha. Take that, you spiteful old fool.  _ The man pursed his lips but said nonetheless, “My mistake, Mr. Hamilton. Welcome to King’s College.” 

 

So his first day of class might’ve gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, but Alexander found himself enjoying the classes. They were interesting, engaging, and challenging. He wondered what his friends were thinking. 

 

...

John’s father had insisted he attend a class on economy and trade. It was dull, dull, dull, but the professor was doing his best to make the class interesting. There were ten other boys in the room, some a little older than John, maybe one or two younger, but most his age. 

 

The poor professor was prattling on and on about the importance of trade and an alliance with countries in Europe, but it seemed that no one was really paying attention. John, for one, was just staring blankly ahead at the wall behind the man. The professor sighed.    
  


“Please remain here while I go and look for a text, will you all? I’m sure it won’t take but a minute.” And just like that, eleven boys were left alone in a room with no supervision. 

 

Two threw open the windows, complaining of how stuffy it was. Unfortunately, the air was humid from the recently ended rainshower, and only made the problem worse. A few made like they were going back to sleep. John stayed at his chair, watching the going-ons with slight amusement. 

 

He was too tired for this. Honestly, if their families wanted them to get an education, why couldn’t they arrange it so they didn’t have to wake up so early? Surely being half asleep made learning and retaining information more difficult? John, for one, did not like waking up before the sun rose just so he could nearly fall asleep in some overheated lecture room.

 

The professor returned, and he was not as amused as John. So, they received a bonus lecture on how to conduct themselves, that they were responsible young men and ought to act that way, and how he hoped it would never happen again. Then, back to European trade. 

 

On the way out the door, the professor grabbed John by the shoulder. “Excuse me, young man, but what was your name again?” 

 

“John Laurens, professor.” He smiled politely, wondering if he was in trouble (had he noticed him nodding off for that one quick second?). 

 

But the man’s face brightened. “I know your father! Henry Laurens, correct? I had no idea you were in New York. Is everything alright down in South Carolina?” 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Dad and I just came up to New York City so he could talk business and so I could attend school. When he goes back home I’ll be staying with a friend.” John replied. “I’ll tell him hello for you.” 

 

“Thank you, Mr. Laurens the younger. Have a nice day.” 

 

“You too, professor.” 

...  
  


Gilbert didn’t mean to. He really didn’t. But that wasn’t going to placate his furious professor. 

 

How was he supposed to know his professor could speak French? And apparently had supernatural hearing. 

 

He had a tendency to mumble under his breath, and he’d been so tired he hadn’t realized that he might’ve been a little too loud. So when he rambled about how Alex could’ve taught the class twice as much in half the time, he hadn’t known the professor could hear him. 

 

To be fair, it was a lecture on government and law. Two things that Alexander loved and knew well. 

 

And two things that were incredibly boring when taught by an old man who droned on and on and on and on. 

 

So when he made comments under his breath, steadily increasing in volume, the professor began to shoot dirty looks at him, until finally- 

 

“Monsieur Lafayette, faites attention! Je m'en fous si votre petit ami peut enseigner mieux que moi! Au moins, il a probablement le bon sens de ne pas parler dans une conférence!” 

 

Oops. 

  
...

Hercules had an uneventful day. It was same old, same old. His classes were interesting, and the other students were friendly. 

 

No, nothing exciting happened to him. 

 

Which is why he was amused (but not surprised) by his friends’ stories. Honestly, as time went on those three seemed to get into more trouble. 

 

But it would be lying to say he didn’t willingly participate in that trouble at times. Or most times. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment or kudos?
> 
> I’m sorry this took so long; life got in the way. :(


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad weather strikes, a look on how Gil and Alex react. I'm sorry it's so short, but I figured you'd all prefer late than never.   
> Sorry guys. :(

“I swear, it’s been raining forever.” Gil sighed, and slumped over the arm of the sofa he was sitting on. 

Rebecca came into the room, holding Evangeline in her arms, a sympathetic look on her face. “Me too, Gilbert. Will this rain ever stop? No smart people are venturing out onto the street. Why, I can barely see out there!” 

Outside the window, a full-force gale was raging. The rain came down in sheets, and the streets flowed like small rivers, debris and trash swept along by their currents. 

Gil was thankful for a break from school, seeing as any paper or books that someone tried to carry around would be ruined within ten seconds of setting foot outdoors. 

Plus, he could visit with his family. Evangeline was very cute, and the first day and a half he was home had been spent primarily with her. She liked to grab at his finger and hair. Thought it hurt like mad when she yanked on the latter. 

What little wood that had been saved from the rain was crackling away in the hearth. Gilbert picked up the nearest book and settled back on the couch. It was going to be a very long day. 

 

Alexander didn’t really like big storms. Too much wind and rain and too much potential for danger. Which was why he’d been holed up in the library for the last four hours. 

Washington knew how his son felt about bad weather. So when he saw increasingly less of the boy as the storm grew worse, he began to worry. 

“Son? Alexander? It’s me; come out of there.” Washington called gently. “You’ve been in there far too long.”

Alex nervously eyed the windows, but stood in front of his father, ducking his head respectfully. “Sorry, s-Dad. Dad.” 

“I know you don’t like bad weather, my boy. It’s alright. I promise the storm will pass.” Washington wrapped his arms carefully around his son. He wasn’t really sure if Alex was still inclined to hugs or not. He was older now, after all. 

Apparently his son was willing to make an exception. Alexander returned the hug, fiercely wrapping his arms around Washington’s waist, because he was still much shorter than the older man. Burying his face in his father’s chest, and listening to the storm rage on and on outside. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright, shhh.” Washington soothed, stroking the teenager’s hair. 

Alexander shuddered at a particularly loud crack of thunder. The tremors didn’t stop and he let out a whimper. 

“Dad, Dad, I’m scared. What if it’s another hurricane?” He knew, theoretically, that their home was far enough inland to escape the worst of the flooding, if there was flooding, but that still couldn’t erase the memories of the last time he was caught in a severe storm. 

“It’s not another hurricane, son. I promise. What was it you told me? A red sky is the forewarning to a hurricane? Did you see any red skies, Alex, because I didn’t, and surely there would have been a wider reaction in the city if there was. I think it’s just another storm, nothing to worry about, unless you’re a sailor, and I know you’re not a sailor.” Washington rambled, not really sure what to say. 

Thunder and lightning shook the sky for the next half hour, until the clouds calmed down and the storm relaxed into gentle rain. But by that point both of them had fallen asleep on the nearby sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE FORGIVE ME I KNOW IT'S AWFUL NEXT ONE WILL BE BETTER PROMISE. 
> 
> If there's anything you want in future chapters please let me know!! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make a new friend....

 

The first of their school breaks had arrived. Slightly earlier than anticipated, due to the storm, which had left a little damage to one of the buildings. The four boys were celebrating by spending their first day off helping Matthew. 

 

A slew of customers had come to the tailor’s shop, each clamoring for clothes in the latest fashions from Europe. 

 

And by Jove, they were  _ annoying.  _

 

Not one of them was any more than frosty to poor Matthew, who was visibly overworked. This, of course, made Hercules upset. 

 

Gilbert, who considered himself to be the fashionable one out of the four, had at first tried to offer advice to customers. A few young women actually seemed to take it to heart, but others, well, let’s just say Gil hadn’t quite mastered the art of being tactful. 

 

Alexander was usually great with people. Really. Except when they were annoying, indecisive, and snobby people. John had gotten into the habit of referring to him as a “little firebrand”. 

 

And as for John, well, he had his fair share of dealing with people like this. South Carolinian aristocracy. 

 

But finally, the flow of customers was over, and they could venture out into the city. It was a beautiful autumn, the trees brightly colored in orange and yellow. The air was crisp and cool, with a breeze dancing among the buildings and sending leaves and discarded paper skittering in the streets. 

 

Four young men would not look out of place anywhere in this city. 

 

Which, bear in mind, is not a valid reason to explore every part of the city. 

 

Which is also how the four ended up at the shipyard. 

 

The masts of the ships in the harbor, not too far away, stood out starkly against the blue sky. The ships here were in various states of completion or repair. 

 

And there was also a very annoyed workman who now had to deal with four boys and a cat. 

 

Blame Alex for this one. 

 

The cat had been wandering through the streets. It was a little gray cat, and one of its paws was held at an awkward angle. 

 

They had passed it huddled in a gutter, and of course Alexander had spotted it and wanted to help. 

 

Four human boys are very intimidating to a small injured cat. 

 

So the cat did what any sensible cat would do. It ran as fast as it could. 

 

“Wait!” Alex called. He chased after it, skidding around the corner and into an alley. His friends looked at each other, and followed him. 

 

The cat streaked down the alley, Alexander streaked down the alley, John, Gil, and Herc streaked down the alley. The alley, unfortunately, opened up into a shipyard where a small group of men were busy working on the mast of a caravel.

 

Masts look a lot like branchless, leafless trees. The cat evidently thought so too. It dug its claws into the wood and shot up the halfway raised mast. The four boys skidded to a stop. 

 

“Sorry, sorry!” John panted. “The cat-got scared, ran away. Didn’t mean to..” 

 

One of the workmen sighed. “Just get the damn cat please.” 

 

Hercules darted forward. The cat was crouched low enough on the mast that he could scoop it into his arms. Although it did growl rather ominously. 

 

Five minutes later, walking down one of New York’s many crowded streets with Hercules holding the cat, Gil sighed. “Alexandre, mon petit lion, next time please remind me to stop you.” 

 

“Sorry Gilly.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck. “But it is a pretty cute cat.” 

 

“Yeah.” John agreed. “We should give it a name!” 

 

“I vote we call it Alexander.” Hercules chimed in. “Because it somehow manages to get into trouble with anyone and anything.” 

 

“Hey!” Alex looked indignant. 

 

Gil looked thoughtful. “We can call it Lex. Lex the cat.” 

 

And that was how a little gray cat ended up moving into Matthew’s shop and collectively got adopted by four teenage boys. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! (it was supposed to be kinda funny, did i do ok)
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos to encourage faster writing! ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by a reader, enjoy! It's a surprise, but hey, it has Washingdad! :)

 

Alexander just couldn’t help it. 

 

He tried, he really did, but sometimes his teachers could just be so incompetent he just had to speak up. And this one particular teacher was giving him a lot more difficulty than the rest of them. 

 

It wasn’t as though he didn’t like the teacher, or didn’t respect him. Professor Arthington was smart, really. The only thing that he had going against him in Alexander’s book was his poor methods of teaching. The only thing they did in class was read out of thick, dusty textbooks. No lectures, which would have been far better than staring at the tiny print. 

 

And all of this was coming from Alex, who loved to read as much as he loved to breathe. 

 

In the span of three weeks, Alexander had had four verbal sparring matches with Professor Arthington. And no, he wasn’t keeping count. What a dreadful accusation, how dare you? 

 

The latest one happened one Thursday, one where the weather was more marvelous than it had been in weeks. Perfect atmosphere to get into an argument with your professor. 

 

The latest spat was over one of the few pieces of information that Professor Arthington actually taught the class properly-by standing up and explaining it. This would have been a wonderful thing, except for the fact that his explanation was straight-up one hundred percent wrong. It was near impossible to make head nor tail of. 

 

Alexander couldn’t take it anymore. He stood up, tugged on his jacket, and spoke up. 

  
“Sir, I think there’s something wrong with the way you’re going about this…” 

 

…

 

Ten minutes later the class was in uproar. Half the students were watching eagerly, the other half laughing like a crowd of lunatics. Professor Arthington was so red in the face he resembled a radish, and Alexander had one foot planted on his chair, looking like he was going to lead a second revolution from the top of his desk. 

 

Fortunately, none of this was to happen, because just as things seemed like they might be on the verge of spiraling out of control, the bell rang. At least, this was fortunate for all the students but one. Professor Arthington glared daggers at Alex as he beckoned for him to come over to his desk. 

 

“You,” The man spat, “are giving me nothing but trouble. I don’t know why you insist on acting out like this, Mr. Hamilton! You are clearly a bright young man, and your arguments have merit, I can admit that. But I simply cannot understand why you insist on acting out in my class! Tell your father that I am requesting to meet with him tomorrow at precisely two in the afternoon.”

 

Well he was screwed. 

 

Washington was busy. He was rarely around in the afternoon, and when he was, the only activity he seemed to be able to muster the strength to do was ruffle his son’s hair or maybe read a book. Alex was not looking forward to telling him about what Professor Arthington had said. 

 

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Washington was in a good mood when Alexander got home. Something had evidently gone well today. 

 

“My boy!” Washington strode right up to his son the minute he walked in the door. “How was your day, son?” 

 

Alex tugged at his jacket, a mimic of what he had done earlier that day in Professor Arlington’s classroom. “It was...it was alright. Same old same old, I guess.” 

 

Washington gave his son a small smile. “Good to hear, Alexander.” 

 

Okay. He could do this. His father wouldn’t be too upset, surely? Alex had done worse. He’d stolen a cannon. He’d pranked Charles Lee. He’d crossed the Schuylkill and been thought dead. He could do this. Right?

 

Wrong.  

 

He tugged on Washington’s sleeve, waiting until the man turned but had to look down at his feet. “ProfessorArthingtonsayshewantsyoutocomemeethimtomorrowattwo.” He said as fast as he could. Which was pretty darn fast.

 

Alexander could physically feel his father frowning. “Why does your professor want me to come meet with him? Alexander, what did you do?” 

 

“I’m sorry, okay, I really am! But I just had to, if you’d only heard what he was saying you would have done the same thing!” 

 

His attempts to defend himself weren’t entirely in vain, at least. Washington held up a hand to stop him from continuing, but he didn’t start shouting over him, which was good. Not like his dad had ever done that. 

 

“This reminds me of the whole situation with Jefferson. I hope you’re not planning on making an enemy out of every adult man in the city, Alex. Now, just tell me what you did so I know how to properly apologize to your professor.”    
  


“I got into another shouting match with him.” Alexander admitted. 

 

Washington didn’t say anything. 

 

He’d messed up this time. 

 

Because time is an asshole, the minutes marched slowly by, all throughout the night and the next day, until it was thirty minutes to two and Washington was striding towards the school with Alex hurrying along in his wake and desperately wishing that for once he’d had an ounce of common sense. 

 

… 

 

Professor Arlington was waiting. 

 

He didn’t hate Hamilton, goodness no. The boy was smart, he’d go far if he ever learned to stop arguing all the time. 

 

All the same, he was going to enjoy telling Hamilton’s father all about what went on in his class. He had the sneaking suspicion that the man didn’t know a thing about what his son was doing, and he looked forward to changing that. So what? Guilty pleasure. 

 

When a sharp knock sounded on the door to his classroom, he called out, “Come in.”

 

He glanced down at a quick list he’d made of all the things he wanted to bring up to Hamilton’s father. 

 

While he was looking down, he also began to talk. “Ah, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Hamilton the elder. Right on time. If you would please sit down, I would very much like to begin.” 

 

And then he looked up. And almost fell out of his chair from pure shock. 

 

There was Hamilton, head bowed. Next to him, positively towering over him, was none other than President Washington. 

 

“Mr. President, if you don’t mind my asking, why are you here with young Mr. Hamilton?” Arthington was proud of the fact that his voice didn’t shake (much). 

 

That all got thrown out the window when President Washington glared at him. “This is my son. Alexander Hamilton-Washington. I was told that you wanted to discuss his behavior in your class?” 

 

“Yes, yes of course. Please do sit.” Arthington flapped his hands weakly. Washington and Hamilton (Hamilton-Washington?) sat. The President lifted an arm and wrapped it gently around his son’s (what the hell) shoulders. 

 

“Alexander is extremely spirited, believe me, I know. You don’t even want to know all the trouble he’s gotten himself into over the years.” Washington chuckled. “But I do know,” he added, growing serious again, “that he is very intelligent. I’m hoping that you’ll be able to give him another chance.” 

 

Hamilton was looking hopefully at Washington. 

 

Arthington was still confused. “Yes, of course, Mr. President. There, there wasn’t ever a question of that. Just, Mr. Hamilton, please note that there will be no debate outside of the lesson.” 

 

Hamilton grinned at him. “Yes sir, Professor Arthington.” 

 

… 

 

Later, as they were walking home, Alexander turned almost shyly to face his father. “I thought you were mad.” he mumbled. 

 

Washington laughed. “Not mad. Anyway, I’m not sure I like Arthington too much anyhow. Though the look on his face was worth sitting through that.” 

 

“It definitely was.” Alex agreed, the smile restored to his lips. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night, I'm making up for my lack of lengthy quality updates! Hooray! 
> 
> Hope you guys liked that. Leave a comment or kudos?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets sick because why not. Enjoy!!

For no reason than that the universe seemed out to get them, all four boys were sick. They weren’t the only ones; a great number of the city was confined to their beds as a fever swept through New York. 

 

Hercules hated being sick. Both he and Matthew had come down with the fever, and the shop was temporarily closed. 

 

Matthew was making a valiant effort to help Hercules, who seemed to have contracted a more severe bout of illness. But he wasn’t much better off, and the past few days had been pretty much spent laying in their beds, occasionally getting up for water or whatever food they could stomach. 

 

“Hey Hercules, I brought some bread and water. Oh, and also this orange. Rebecca Miller stopped by, and said it would be a good thing to eat. Gilbert’s sick too, apparently.” Matthew coughed weakly. 

 

Hercules accepted the bread, water, and orange. If Gil was sick too, he wondered about the fate of his other friends. What about John, and Alex? If they hadn’t written or visited yet, it seemed likely that they too were confined to their homes. 

 

Matthew sat heavily on the edge of Herc’s bed, giving him a small smile. He reached out his hand to pet Lex, who was snuggled into the blanket. “When the city recovers, you boys will be up on your feet dashing around like always.” 

 

That drew a small smile out of Hercules. “Don’t I know it.” 

  
  


Gilbert had been confined to his room for going on three days now. 

 

It wasn’t just because he was sick, even though that was the primary reason. It wasn’t even that he was forced to stay in one room, because he wasn’t. He just didn’t want Evangeline to get sick. She wasn’t even a year old and illness at her age could be devastating. 

 

But fortunately, Rebecca Miller knew her fair share of home remedies for fever. Gilbert gladly went along with them, and was relieved when they seemed to lift the fever a little. 

 

“Good morning, Gil. How are you feeling?” John Miller entered his adopted son’s bedroom with breakfast. Gilbert still refused to leave. 

 

“Much improved, thank you, Papa. How are Evangeline and Mama?” 

 

“Still fine. You should at least open the curtains in here, Gilbert. A little exposure won’t kill anyone.” Mr. Miller marched over to the curtains and wrenched them open, letting early morning sunlight stream into the room. 

 

Gil raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. “Ahh, it burns, it burns!” He hissed playfully. Mr. Miller rolled his eyes and left the food by the bed. 

 

“Eat breakfast and come out of your room. It’s much too quiet around here.” As he closed the door, he added, “And stay out of the sun!” 

  
  


If Hercules hated being sick, Alexander despised it with seething passion. The only memories he had of being ill were the ones that ended in his mother’s death. So whenever he thought he might be sick he denied it aggressively. 

 

“Alexander?” Washington called from the foot of the stairs. “They’ve shut down the offices for a few days. With everyone getting sick left and right it seemed too risky to keep working.” 

 

Up in his room, Alex froze. He’d woken up that morning with hindered breathing and a higher body temperature than felt normal. He knew how to recognize the signs; he’d definitely come down with something. 

 

Footsteps ascended the creaky stairs. “Alex? Son, are you alright up there?” 

 

Washington entered his room, pausing briefly to rap his knuckles on the doorframe. “Alexander-” 

 

He stopped when he saw that Alex was curled beneath a pile of every blanket in the room and a few from other rooms. Gently pulling back the covers, Washington peered down at his son. 

 

The moment his warm sanctuary was stolen, Alexander scrabbled to pull it back. 

 

Frowning, Washington reached out to place a hand on his son’s forehead, only for the teenager to bat it away and curl in on himself a little more. “Come now, Alex. What’s wrong with you? You’re not sick, are you son?” 

 

“No! I’m fine. Just tired.” Was Alexander’s response. He said nothing else and turned his head so it was buried in a pillow, hiding his face, where signs of illness were prominent. 

 

The bed dipped a little when Washington sat down. “Hmmm. You’re never tired. All that energy finally run out?” He teased, brushing Alex’s dark hair back and forth. 

 

When he got no response, he ran his hand up and down Alex’s back. “Son, what’s the matter? Alexander.” Placing a head on his now unresistant son’s forehead, his eyes widened. “My boy, you’ve got a fever.”

 

And this time, Alex was too tired to fight back and say he wasn’t ill. He let his father bring tea and medicine, drank it willingly, and listened to the stories Washington told him about his youth and the adventures and mishaps he’d gotten himself into. 

 

Maybe, just maybe, he’d have some new memories of illness that didn’t end in despair. 

  
  


John never got sick. Something about him just seemed to ward off fevers as if they were physical things he could swat away with his hand. So when the wave of illness swept across the city, and most of its denizens, including his three friends, were struck down, he still didn’t think he’d be too affected. 

 

How very, very wrong he was. 

 

One fine day, when the sun was shining and the streets were empty because everyone was freaking sick, John woke up sweating, congested, and feeling like someone had shoved a wad of thick, un-ginned cotton inside his chest. 

 

And. It. Was. Awful. 

 

Henry Laurens walked into his son’s room to find him wrapped in his blanket and quilt, two spots of bright color in his otherwise pale face. 

 

He didn’t know what to do. John didn’t know what to do. Thank heaven above that Rebecca Miller knew what to do. 

 

She had quickly become the mother of the group, seeing as how she was the only one within walking distance of the four boys. And she took on the job willingly, because if the war had taught her anything it was that teenage boys could be real idiots and would get themselves killed if someone wasn’t looking out for them. 

 

Mrs. Miller brought the same herbal medicines that were working wonderfully for Gilbert, and oranges. They were near impossible to find, but she’d stocked up while she could. Oranges always did wonders for her when she was ill, she had said. 

 

So the two Laurens men were much better off in the weeks that followed. 

  
  


The next week dawned clear, bright, and cold. In the time of illness, most of the city had forgotten the approaching holiday season. And now that it had passed, New York was ready for something to celebrate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might seem a little cut short, but it's so I can (hopefully) get something special for you guys up! Keep an eye on this ok? *wink*   
> ~RedCoatsRedder


	13. Happy Holidays part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays!!

The fever had passed. The city was loud and bustling again. Just in time for the holidays. 

 

Gray clouds had rolled in the day before, and now snow was drifting down on the city, landing on the heads of its citizens and coating the buildings and streets in a layer of white. Boots and hooves and wagon wheels trampled through the soft, cold fluff, packing it tighter and tighter onto the cobbles. Children laughed and ran around, chasing each other, as the older ones threw snowballs and built snowmen and snow angels. 

 

Candles and wreaths of evergreen branches had begun to appear in the windows of the houses and stores. Shops began to display their winter and holiday goods, and everyone seemed to be trying to find the perfect sort of dish to serve to their relatives for dinner. 

 

The four boys were no exception to the holiday spirit that seemed to have swept through the city overnight. The first afternoon there had been snow on the ground, they’d spent a good part of the day engaged in a fierce snowball fight, with John and Hercules pitted against Alexander and Gilbert. John and Herc had won. Of course, a rematch had been called, and that time, Alex and Gil won. So no one really could tell who the true victors were. 

 

John and Henry Laurens didn’t get much snow down in South Carolina, so when they did, it was a cause for celebration for John, at least. Henry didn’t much like the cold. Hercules was pretty much used to it, having been in New York for a good deal of his life. Alexander had seen snow for the first time when he came to America, and wasn’t really sure what to make of it. France was pretty mild, so snow was a rarity, but Gil loved it. 

 

And thus, they spent a good deal of time outside, walking through snowdrifts and partaking in all the pleasures that the winter had to offer this year. 

 

With the arrival of winter, it also brought with it a holiday that the families of the four each celebrated-Christmas. 

 

Hercules helped Matthew dress the shop in red ribbon and fir branches, placing candles in the windows too. (safely out of reach of the fabrics and whatever else might seem prone to bursting into flame) 

 

The Millers had a tradition this time of year- they always purchased a small tree and decorated it with whatever they had on hand-usually colorful ribbon and small, carefully contained candles. Most people found this to be odd, but Mr. Miller had explained that it was a tradition that his German ancestors had passed down through the ages. Gilbert wasn’t complaining; the tree was lovely and it filled the room it was placed in with a smell of fresh pine. 

 

John and his father wrote letters home to the family, expressing tidings of goodwill and sadness that they couldn’t get home in time to celebrate the holiday with them. They responded by sending similar messages and also a plum pudding-the two’s favorite dessert. In the meantime, they decorated similarly to other families-evergreens and soft candlelight. 

 

Alexander was excited. Martha Washington was coming up to New York from Virginia to spend the week of and the week after the holiday with them. He and his father had taken a break from politics, and Congress had even given its members permission to take time off to celebrate with their families. The family would be together again. 

 

One of the many positives of family celebrations is that someone always ends up making or purchasing more sugary foods than can be eaten at one time. And as a result you either end up lethargic or stuck with a sudden burst of energy and the desire to go go go until it inevitably fails you and you’re just as tired as everyone else. 

 

Which is is precisely what happened to the families of the four boys. 

 

At the Miller house, John Miller was practically passed out on a sofa (although since this was one of the few days of the year he indulged in alcohol, that might be why), Rebecca and Gil were activity engaged in a paper and pencil puzzle, and poor little Evangeline just watched in confusion, occasionally giggling. 

 

John and Henry Laurens were both essentially brain dead. Two people is not enough people to properly share a plum pudding and both will end up feeling as if they have eaten way too much. Which, in fact, they have. 

 

Hercules and Matthew had had a busy holiday season- winter fashions. But they had closed the shop, packed away the fabric, and had a proper celebration that of course included both of their families. No one got drunk, but there had been a lot of (off tune) singing of many festive songs and hymns. 

 

Alexander and the Washingtons perhaps had the calmest gathering. After a family dinner that had been rather uneventful, but did include candied fruit, the three had spent much of the evening in the house library, curled up with a crackling fire, warm blankets, hot chocolate, and many, many books. 

 

All in all, it had been a very merry Christmas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was late :( 
> 
> But hey, enjoy! 
> 
> ~RedCoatsRedder


	14. Happy Holidays pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year!

Of course, just a short time after the celebrations ended, a new one popped up. The year was drawing to a close, and soon it would be over. People were already talking about what would happen in the coming year. 

 

Peace with England was… touchy. Things were a little awkward, not quite hostile but not exactly peaceful. 

 

But moving on from that. It was New Years Eve, and there was to be a show in Longacre Square. Flyers had been put up all around the city, advertising “fireworks” , with a description of brightly colored sparks flying up into the night sky and exploding overhead. It sounded incredible. The Chinese had first discovered the technology, apparently. 

 

The families of the four boys were all gathered in the square. After waving a quick goodbye to their parents and guardians, the four were off, searching the square for the other three. 

 

Gil happened upon a stack of crates near a shop that had closed for the day. He scrambled atop it and called out for the others. 

 

“Mes amis! Here! Alex, Hercules, John!” 

 

Alexander was the first to reach him. He hoisted himself on top of the crates and stood beside Gilbert, waving his arms as they scanned the crowded square for John and Hercules. The darkness didn’t help either. 

 

Herc stumbled into the crates by accident, following the sound of his friends’ voices. Accepting Gil’s offered hand, he pulled himself up with the others as they searched for John. 

 

Finally, at just ten minutes before midnight, the final member of the Revolutionary Set all but leapt on top of the first crate. John scrambled up to meet his friends, and they waited in anticipation for twelve o’clock. 

 

The clock struck midnight, the bells in the church began to toll, and the first of the fireworks went off. 

 

They were magnificent. Bright colors of red, white, green, blue, yellow, and purple streaked across the sky and exploded in huge bursts of sparks, which shimmered as they fell back to earth. 

 

In the bright colors, and amidst the cheering, a cry rang out. It echoed across the square, growing in volume. The four boys took it up as well. 

 

“Happy New Year!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter for tonight. Happy New Year guys!


	15. Cabinet Battle #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cabinet battle....again.

 

 

Being eighteen had benefits. Old enough to gain some new freedoms. Getting older did have its pluses, after all. 

 

Except maybe not because they all had strict parents. But still, exciting. 

 

Unfortunately, it looked like they were about to be drawn into yet another conflict. The revolution in France was quickly gathering speed, and a body count. This worried Gil in particular, who still had people he considered friends and family back across the ocean. 

 

The other downside to this issue was that it was being debated in cabinet. Just like always, no one could seem to come up with an agreement. Personally, Alexander felt that they should just stay out of it. It was far too risky to get involved in such an unstable country at a time when the government was teetering on the edge of complete collapse. And a great number of people felt it would be best to steer clear as well. Even Gilbert was feeling a little resigned to waiting this one out. 

 

But not Thomas Jefferson. Surprise, surprise. 

 

“The issue on the table. France is on the verge of war with England. Now, do we provide aid and troops to our French allies or do we stay out of it? Remember, my decision is not subject to Congressional approval. The only person you have to convince is me. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor.” Washington had of course held another cabinet meeting to discuss the issue. And, he was hoping his wayward son would have the sense to butt out this time. 

 

“When we were on death’s door, when we were needy, we made a promise, we signed a treaty! We needed money and guns and half a chance, uh, might I remind you who provided those funds?” Jefferson was on a role already, and now he looked to Madison for support. 

 

“France.” The other man mock-whispered, right on cue. 

 

Jefferson continued. “In return, they didn’t ask for land, only a promise that we’d lend a hand and stand with them if they fought against oppressors, and revolution is messy, but NOW is the time to stand! Stand with our brothers as they fight against tyranny!” Unfortunately for Washington, Jefferson was really getting into this. He had a soft spot for the country he’d spent much of the war years in, he supposed. But the longer he went on like this, the higher the risk that Alexander would get involved.

 

His son was supposed to be out. But Hercules had been stuck in the tailor’s shop helping Matthew with a rush of customers, a wealthy family who was holding a party and just had to have new clothing. Gilbert was watching his sister while Mr. Miller worked and Mrs. Miller attended a women’s club. John and his father were actually en route to South Carolina, going back on a quick family visit before returning to New York. And thus, Alexander was watching the proceedings from a corner of the room. Even at a distance, Washington could see his eyes were narrowed. 

 

After Jefferson’s speech derailed into a series of personal attacks against Wolcott, Washington felt like banging his head on the wood in front of him. How did they always end up here? Was his cabinet composed of children? It would appear so. 

 

Damn it. Alexander was stalking towards Jefferson with a look of bloody murder on his face. No, don’t do it, Alexander Hamilton-Washington, you sit down. Don’t go over there, no, no, no, damn it. 

 

Because he said none of this out loud, his son didn’t hear a word he said. And continued his path towards the center of the room, where Jefferson stood.    
  


Washington wanted to bury his head in his hands while simultaneously peeking between two of his fingers. He’d never admit it, but these situations always ignited a small spark of pride. His son, his Alex, was able to take on this brilliant grown man in a verbal battle and outmatch him every time. Plus it was a little funny. But he’d never said that, no, what are you thinking, that was definitely not him.    
  


“You must be out of your out of your goddamn mind!” 

 

Ok, he took it back. His son could be a proper idiot sometimes. 

  
  


No offense, but Wolcott was kinda bad at this. He just couldn’t go up against Thomas Jefferson and hold his own. 

 

Alex wasn’t being cruel. He was just stating the facts as he saw them. And besides, Wolcott had told him before that he was fine with letting Alexander fight the verbal, and written, battles every once in a while. He knew what it was like to itch for a chance to say your thing. Or so he claimed, anyways. 

 

So when Wolcott met his eyes from across the room, Alexander began heading his way. As soon as Jefferson was done talking, he stepped forward. 

 

He saw the eye rolls, the derogatory looks as well as the excited and appreciative ones, and met Jefferson’s smug smirk with a challenging glare. 

 

“You must be out of your GODDAMN mind, if you think the President is going to bring the nation to the brink of meddling in the middle of a military mess, a game of chess, if you will, where France is queen and king- less?  We signed a treaty with a king whose head is now in a basket, would you like to take it out and ask it, Mr. Jefferson?” Alexander smiled pleasantly, turning and looking down slightly as if he were talking to something on the floor. “Should we honor our treaty, King Louis’s head?” 

 

Cupping a hand around his ear, he leaned down a bit further, pretending to listen for a response. “Uh, do whatever you want, I’m super dead!” It earned him a few chuckles from the onlookers. 

 

Washington stood up. Wolcott did too, for some reason. “Enough! My...son, is right.” It looked like he was physically pained by admitting it. Ouch. 

 

“Mister President!” Jefferson looked outraged. 

 

“We’re just too fragile to start another fight.” Washington rubbed at his temple. Alex winced internally. He’d probably be in for the lecture of a lifetime when this was done. 

 

Jefferson tried again. “But sir, do we not fight for freedom?” Washington barely spared him a glance. “Sure, when the French figure out who’s going to lead them.” 

 

“The people are leading!”

 

“The people are rioting, there’s a difference. Frankly, it’s a little disquieting that you would you let your ideals blind you to reality?” Washington challenged. Jefferson stood silently, fuming. “Wolcott, draft a statement of neutrality, if you would. And can I talk to you in my office?  _ Both  _ of you?” 

 

Alex glanced sheepishly up at the Secretary, who gave him a small smile and shrugged his shoulders.    
  


Jefferson cornered him on the way out the door. He looked livid, and probably had a right to be. But the words that came out of his mouth weren’t the ones that he was expecting. 

“Did you forget Lafayette?” 

 

It took Alexander a few minutes to process what the older man had said. “What?” 

 

“Have you an ounce of regret? You help Wolcott accumulate debt, power, but in their hour of need you both so conveniently forget what they did to help us win the war.” 

 

“Gilbert’s here, and he’s fine. And besides, he’s not your friend, he’s mine.” Alexander shot back. “If we try to fight in every revolution in the world, we’d never stop. There has to be a place to draw the line!” 

 

“So quick witted.” Jefferson chuckled. 

 

“Alas, I admit it.” Alexander retorted. 

 

“I bet you would make quite the lawyer.” 

 

Okay, was this some sort of compliment? Alexander shrugged. “I’d make sure my defendants got acquitted.” 

 

Jefferson smirked. “Yeah? Well someone ought to remind you- you’re  _ nothing _ without Washington behind you.” 

 

As if summoned by the sound of his name, the President appeared in the doorway. “Alexander!” 

 

Giving him a slight shove, Jefferson leaned down (an insult itself) and whispered in his ear, “Daddy’s calling.” 

  
  


Wolcott liked the President’s kid. Alexander was bright, passionate, maybe a little too much so, and he could talk and talk fast enough and long enough to rival even the most long-winded of politicians. And the kid was clearly itching for a chance to make an impression on the new government. 

 

So he let him talk sometimes in cabinet meetings. He didn’t like going up against Jefferson anyways. The guy had a tendency to make things a little too personal for his tastes. He didn’t need anything about him thrown before the cabinet. Those men could be likes dogs with a bone when it came to gossip. 

 

And it wasn’t like there wasn’t a fair share of rumors about poor Alexander swirling around the cabinet. It was successfully kept from the ears of the President (for now) and Wolcott never told the kid. 

It was all speculation, for the most part. Just, why? Why had the President adopted this kid? Some were inclined to think Alexander was his illegitimate child. There was all sorts of gossip, none of it based in solid fact, and very unlikely to be true. 

 

Wolcott paused outside the door of Washington’s office. Through the wood, he could hear an argument going on. 

 

“Alexander, I’ve told you time and time again, you are not to get involved in government affairs! You’re too young.” The President’s voice conveyed enough anger to stop a bullet. 

 

“I’m eighteen! And we both know that Jefferson’s loyal to France to a fault. Come on, Dad, you admitted yourself that I was right!” There was the kid.

 

Wolcott could’ve told Alexander not to keep going. Never a good idea to argue with your parents when they’re mad. Especially when they’re mad at you. 

 

“ALEXANDER. That is quite enough from you. Go. home. NOW.” 

 

Wolcott winced. Even from his position outside the door, he could practically see the venom dripping off Washington’s voice. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to face it head on, especially when the man was likely glaring and towering over you. Poor kid. 

 

The door opened and Alexander came out, head bowed slightly. He looked up for a moment when he saw Wolcott. “Oh, hi Secretary Wolcott.” Then the kid was gone, and Wolcott was left to face Washington on his own. 

 

“Secretary. I apologize for my errant child. I assure you, he won’t do this again.” Washington spoke with a clipped tone, as if he was barely holding in his frustration. Best to just agree with him here. 

 

“‘Tis quite alright, sir. I should not have let him get involved so.” Wolcott spoke honestly; he had let the kid get involved. And hopefully this would spare Alexander some of his father’s ire. 

 

The president nodded. “Thank you for your understanding. You may go, and if you see Secretary Jefferson, please tell him I would like to speak to him as well.” 

 

Wolcott nodded and left the room. 

  
  


Washington hated yelling at Alexander. He really did. So when he was standing outside of the house, hand on the knob, he had to take a few breaths to steady himself. 

It didn’t work this time. Guilt washed over him when he was met with a silent, dim house. No one came to the door to say hello, there was no one in the library reading a book, and it was silent as a tomb. Part of him, though, was annoyed that he felt guilty. Why should he? His son was the one at fault here. But that part lost, just like always. 

 

He climbed the stairs slowly. Still nothing. The door to his son’s bedroom was slightly open, maybe an invitation to come in, or maybe he’d just forgotten to close it. Whichever one it was, Washington was going to go with the first. 

 

“Hey, Alex.” 

 

His son had been sitting on his bed, but got to his feet when he entered the room. Dammit. Alexander instantly reverted to the “at attention” pose he’d picked up during the war- spine straight, head up, arms behind back. Dammit again. “Hello, sir.” 

 

Dammit dammit dammit. 

 

“What did I say about calling me sir?” He’d meant for it to be lighthearted, but it came out as more of a demand than anything. Why was he so bad at this? 

 

“Sorry.” 

 

Okay. He could do this. “Alex, my boy,” -yes, nickname and appellation, good- “you know I’m not really mad at you, right? Well, I am mad at you, but it’s still alright. Jefferson’s already cooling down, as best he can. I’m not going to yell at you, I just want your assurance that you won’t get involved again.” 

 

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Alexander promised. His voice was so much softer than it usually was. 

 

“Alright. Then the matter is resolved. You’re forgiven, you know.” Washington was relieved. “Come here, Alex.” Rather than wait, he closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around his son. 

 

“I love you.” Alexander’s voice was muffled, as his face was hidden in the front of Washington’s coat. 

 

Relief, affection, and happiness swept through the President. “I love you too, son.” 

 

Jefferson could shove it. 

  
  


Gilbert wasn’t angry. And that was the truth. He’d heard from Alexander all the things that were going on in the government, over the decision on whether or not to support France during its (admittedly shockingly violent) revolution. 

 

As a matter of fact, he himself was having some doubts about the ethics of what was going on over there. The king, the nobles, even just people who had the misfortune of being blamed for something they didn’t do, all lost to the blade of the new guillotine. The Terror, as it was being called, was consuming his country and its people. 

 

So when Alex came knocking one afternoon, and requested that they go for a walk through the city, Gil knew that there would be no support for the people of France.    
  
And he was right. 

 

“You argued against it, did you not, petite lion?” Gilbert attempted to make his tone as neutral as he could. He wasn’t angry with his friend. It wasn’t his fault, really. Even if he had argued against sending help. 

 

Alexander opened and closed his mouth a few times, glancing down at his lap, not quite meeting Gilbert’s eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I- I’m really sorry, I am, but please just hear me out, we’re just too unstable at this point to get involved in a foreign revolution. We’re still recovering. And I know it’s your home, Gil, and I’m sorry, truly.”

 

Gil knew that Alex was telling the truth. “I know, mon ami. I do not blame you. I myself have wondered if France might not be the same place as she was when I left. I do not know if the home I know is still there. I fear it is not.” 

 

This seemed to shock Alexander a bit. He looked away, before clearing his throat and awkwardly placing a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “I- I don’t think it is either, Gil.” 

 

“It will be alright. After all, America is my home now as well.” 

 

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I was busy with finals.


	16. Resignation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry, I've had a rough second semester so far, but that doesn't excuse it. Enjoy.

 

 

Washington was  _ resigning.  _ Two terms were a long time, but still, when John heard the news that the president would be spending his final moments in office this year, he couldn’t believe it. 

 

“Alex, what are you gonna do? Are you going to stay in the city?” 

 

His friend looked miserable. “I’m going back to Virginia.”

John couldn’t believe it. Hell, his dad, who had been planning to spend maybe a month at most in New York, had ended up sticking around all this time, save for the times he’d gone back home for quick visits. But now, Alex, his friend, was going to be entire states away. 

 

But he knew that ultimately, this was his friend’s choice. And he’d made it for a reason, even if it was a reason that John might not agree with. 

 

Because he would never, in a million years, ever agree with anything that meant sending Alexander away. 

  
  


Hercules couldn’t believe it when he heard the news. It was in all of the papers, of course. George Washington, after two terms serving as the first president of the United States of America, was resigning at the end of this term. 

 

And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part came a few days later, when Alexander stopped by the tailor’s shop. 

 

It had been a slow day. There had been almost no customers save for one older lady, who had wanted a dress in a bright, bright cerulean blue. Because “the customer is always right” as Matthew had put it many times before, always accompanied by a tired look, they had agreed to fulfill the request. And then Alex came through the door, saying he had important news. 

 

“Spill, man.” Hercules had prodded. Alex had slumped onto a stool, and they had immediately known that whatever this was, it couldn’t be good. 

 

Of course, it wasn’t. 

 

“I guess you guys saw the news in the papers? Dad’s resigning at the end of this term. He’s going to go home, and since the school term ends roughly the same time as his term in office, I’m going home with him.” Alexander looked down at his lap. 

 

Herc couldn’t believe it. By the looks of it, neither could Matthew. Both of them looked at each other in shock, and then back at the boy sitting in front of them. 

 

“But what about your future? Don’t you want to become a lawyer? What about that?” Herc pressed. Matthew gave him a brief glare. 

 

“There’s law schools in Virginia. And it’s been eight years since Dad’s been home. I’m sorry, Herc. I really am.” Alexander met his friend’s gaze. There was a real conflict of emotion in his eyes. Warring between wanting to remain with his friends, or going home to his parents. 

 

“It’s not like I’ll be throwing my future away. We can write, and I’ll study law in Virginia, and someday I’ll be able to come back up here and see you guys. I promise.”    
  
Alexander was fortunate to be blessed with puppy eyes that could rival those of Sam Winchester (Hercules had no clue who that was-he didn’t know a Sam Winchester, but the name sort of just popped into his head). And when he used those eyes on someone, even unwittingly, it was hard not to agree. 

 

“I know, man. The only thing that will change is that we won’t be able to walk for a few minutes and see each other every day.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

  
  


Gilbert was freaking heartbroken. His petit lion, going back to Virginia? Back to communicating through letters, even if they wrote so frequently that a letter arrived almost every day? Washington, resigning? Personally he thought no one could possibly replace that man in office. 

 

He’d probably be right. 

 

“Alexandre, why? You could stay in the city, I’m sure the Millers wouldn’t mind, or even John and his father. Even Hercules and Matthew have a spare room in the shop. You don’t have to leave, if you don’t want to.” 

 

When he looked at his friend, Alex couldn’t meet his eyes. “Gil...please don’t be upset. I know, there are ways I could stay, but I don’t want to burden you, or the Laurenses, or Matthew. And anyways...Dad gave me a choice. He said that he could arrange for me to stay in New York.” 

 

Unable to believe his ears, Gilbert looked at his friend incredulously. “You have the option to stay, and you’re not taking it? Alexander, why the hell not?” 

 

The last time he’d seen Alex cry was many years ago. Hell, he was pretty sure he hadn’t seen tears in any of his friend’s eyes since the war. Since the nights when everything felt hopeless and they weren’t sure if any of them were going to make it out alive. 

 

But there were tears in Alexander’s eyes now. “Dad’s not exactly young, Gil. He’s trying to hide it from me, I think, but I accidentally picked up a letter he meant to send to Mom yesterday. His health seems to be slowly deteriorating. I could never live with myself if I stayed in the city, only to find out from a letter that my dad died and I wasn’t even there to say goodbye.” 

 

And that was something Gilbert understood. The pain of losing family was one that no one should ever, ever have to bear, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. The only thing one could really do was make sure that the person knew they were loved. 

 

“Alexandre, mon petit lion, you know we are your friends, non, we are your family. I could never be upset with you for something like that. It will be okay, mon ami.” 

  
  


The time until Washington’s term ended flew by. Suddenly it seemed like the time was among them, and the city was filled with the buzz of people wondering who would be the new president after Washington was gone. Speculation was running rampant. 

 

Just three weeks before time ran out, Washington approached Alexander with a request. 

  
“Son, can you do something for me? I want you to write a farewell address. You know I’ve never been the most eloquent of people, but you are. I think you’d do a great job.” Washington placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiled at him sympathetically. He knew how hard it had been for his boy to make the decision to return home with him. Secretly though, it was glad he had. 

 

And of course Alex agreed. 

 

When the day arrived, Washington was dressed in a solid black waistcoat and breeches. He looked every bit the solemn leader that most of the country had come to see him as. 

 

Standing on a balcony overlooking a massive crowd, probably as large as the one that attended his inauguration, Washington delivered the speech that Alexander had written. 

 

"Though, in reviewing the incidents of my administration,I am unconscious of intentional error. I am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to think it probable that I may have committed many errors.I shall also carry with me the hope that my country will view them with indulgence, and that after forty-five years of my life dedicated to its service with an upright zeal,the faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to oblivion,as I myself must soon be to the mansions of rest. I anticipate with pleasing expectation that retreat, in which I promise myself to realize the sweet enjoyment of partaking in the midst of my fellow-citizens.” 

 

_ “The benign influence of good laws under a free government,the ever-favorite object of my heart. _

_ And the happy reward, as I trust, of our mutual cares, labors, and dangers.” Alexander mumbled to himself under his breath as he wrote. Penning the last few lines of his father’s speech, he dropped the quill and gazed at his work with an expression that could only be described as resignation.  _

 

From below, no one was paying attention to the teenager standing just behind his father, looking at the floor. Even if they were, they wouldn’t have been able to see the tear that fell to the ground by his feet. 

 

__

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, this wasn't supposed to be sad. Oops. We're getting near the end, guys. It's been an honor. ~RCR


	17. Fare Thee Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander's goodbye.

 

 

The day that Alexander went back to Virginia shouldn’t have felt so final. It shouldn’t have felt like saying goodbye to their friend for good. But to John Laurens, it did. The week after Washington’s farewell address, the only thing that had happened at Number Three Cherry Street was a lot of packing. 

 

Then, the day before Alexander and Washington were to depart for Virginia, the four boys went on a walk. Which, after all of the years they’d spent, having adventures, pranking people, arguing with jackass politicians and army officers, seemed a bit of a lackluster sendoff. 

 

New York was busy as always, people and horses and carriages surging through the streets, competing for space, merchants haggling wares, arguing with people who felt they’d been cheated (and were likely right). 

 

But out of all the people, four teenagers walked silently through the streets. They were following Alex, who had said he wanted to show them something. So they walked through the city, winding between the passers-by and not earning a sideways glance from any one of them. 

 

Finally, just when John was beginning to wonder if they were going anywhere at all, Alexander led them through the gate and into a small churchyard. It was afternoon on a Wednesday, so there wasn’t a service in session at the moment. So what on earth were they doing here?

 

The yard was pretty enough, with green grass and rows of headstones placed inside the iron gates. John rested a hand on the nearest one. “Alex, what are we doing here?” 

 

Alexander lifted his head. “I came here a few times, because it’s quiet. And the people on the streets rarely pass through here, so you can stand here and feel like the world’s sort of distant.” 

 

Well John is a little shocked. He never thought Alex one for a philosophical type. But here they were, standing in a quiet churchyard. 

 

“This is a place for goodbyes, anyways.” 

  
  


Well that settled it. Gilbert was going to cry. He’d never been good at goodbyes. In the dying light of the day, he and the other three looked at Alexander in quiet surprise. 

 

Their little friend (still so small, after all these years) was looking at them with a sad smile on his lips. “Um, I thought it would be appropriate, because people come here a lot to reminisce, and I felt like that would be a nice thing to do...to talk about everything that’s happened?” 

 

Gil couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the gap between himself and petit lion in no less than four strides and hugged his friend so tightly he was afraid he may have cut off his airstream. Turns out he did, in fact. So after a few long seconds he let Alexander go. 

 

They sat on the ground in a circle in the spaces between graves. A story came to Gilbert’s mind almost immediately. 

 

“I know there’s no way we could ever forget this, but do you remember during the war when we all decided we were going to sneak into an active battle and steal a British cannon? And then we almost got caught but we made it out of the city and left the cannon in the middle of camp? And woke up the next day and everyone was confused as to where it came from?” 

 

Hercules laughed. “Yeah, and then we all got yelled at for like a solid hour? When Rebecca found out she flipped, remember? She yelled at all of us at some point, I think.” 

 

Gilbert smiled fondly at the memory. It was true, Rebecca had yelled at him and Mr. Miller a great deal before going off to find the rest of his friends. He was fairly certain she had earned the title of “lion” just like Alexander. 

 

Alex broke into a grin. “That was nothing compared to the time we forgot to mention we were leaving and accidentally set everyone into a panic. Dad hadn’t yelled at me like that before. In fact, I think the only other time he’s ever yelled that much was after I told Jefferson to stick a shoe up his ass.” 

 

John cackled. “Come on, Washington, the man deserves it! No one should have a coat  _ that  _ pink.” 

 

Hercules nodded. “Hell, Matthew doesn’t even have fabric that bright. I don’t even know where he could have gotten something that flamboyant. Although it suits his personality pretty well, don’t you think?” 

 

“You can read a man by looking at his coat.” Gil nodded sagely, earning another burst of laughter from his friends. 

 

“And pranking Lee! My god, it was hilarious seeing him with that flour caked in his hair! Remember how much he screamed at us? I swear, he wouldn’t look at me with anything other than a scowl for a week.” Alexander giggled. 

 

John smirked. “I don’t think anyone ever managed to prove it was us, though.” 

 

“Non,” Gilbert interjected. “Rebecca overheard us talking about it, remember? She didn’t approve at first, but after she met Lee, she said to me ‘Gilbert, listen closely because I will never say this again, but I have never been prouder.’ Then she glared off at the distance, called Lee a ‘detestable maggot’ and walked off.” 

 

The other three howled. “You never told us that!” Hercules gasped, when he had stopped laughing long enough to form coherent sentences. 

 

“No, mon ami, I am fairly certain I did.” 

 

“Gilly, there’s no way we could forget something like that.” 

 

“Ah, old age corrupts the memory, does it not?” 

 

“Dude, we’re eighteen.” 

  
  


Hercules shook with laughter. Quite literally. He was bending over just a little, and his entire back was vibrating. Or at least, it felt like it was. In reality, it probably looked like he was having a fit or something, but he didn’t care. 

 

Gil wasn’t completely wrong about age corrupting the memory. He hadn’t quite recalled just how  _ hilarious  _ some of their exploits had been. Pranking Lee was definitely one of their highlights. 

 

And who could forget all the other times they’d gotten themselves in trouble? Ah, those were the good old days. Well, as good as you could get, during a war. 

 

“Remember when we all thought that you were dead, Alex? That was fucking terrifying and if you ever do it again I’ll kill you for real.” Herc said this all with a straight face and a pleasant grin. 

 

After a few moments of stunned silence, broken when John let out another guffaw, before solemnly agreeing with Hercules and adding, “and then I’ll find a way to bring you back so we can kill you again.”

 

Alexander swore he would never do it again. 

 

“Besides, I couldn’t possibly deprive you guys of my literary genius, could I?” 

 

Herc reached over and shoved Alex backwards, so he landed, laughing, on his back in the grass. John flopped down beside him, and Gil dragged Hercules along too, so the four were sprawled out on the soft earth. 

 

A sudden, brief memory flashed clear and bright through his mind. 

 

_ They were sitting in the grass a little ways from camp, eating something, he couldn’t remember what it was. It had been shortly after they met, and Alex and John were trying to teach Gil a little bit of English.  _

 

_ “Anarchy, Gil, not onarchy.”  _

 

_ And they were learning a little French in return.  _

 

_ “No no no. It’s oui, not eeeee.”  _

 

_ “Now I understand your struggles, Gil.”  _

 

_ He and Gil had lain in the grass for a while after that, when Alexander and John had been called away. They’d been waxing philosophical about government, and freedom, and war.  _

 

Now, they were free, the war was done, and the government was, well, it was doing the best it could. Ish. 

 

Hercules smiled, letting a few clouds overhead snag his gaze for a moment.  _ Who knew _ , he thought.  _ Who knew.  _

 

_ Who knew we’d be able to make it this far.  _

  
  


They’d been out here, in Trinity Churchyard, for hours. 

 

Alexander rolled over on to his stomach, laughter still racking his (small) frame. Nothing like affectionate death threats to remind you that your friends cared. 

 

After John’s proclamation of possible necromancy if he were to die, and the promise of dying again after that (all of this sounded very tiring to be honest), an interlude of silence fell over the four. Alex played with the blades of grass underneath his hands, wondering if he should say something to break the silence, and if so, what to say? 

 

Turns out he didn’t have to decide on an answer to either of those questions, because John did it for him. 

 

His friend, pushing himself up onto his elbows, had started to sing a quiet, but familiar, tune. 

 

“I may not live to see our glory, but I will gladly join the fight.” John sang softly, his voice seeming to echo in the quiet cemetery.

 

Alex smiled and added his own voice, joining John for the next verse. “And when our children tell our story, they’ll tell the story of tonight.” 

 

“Let’s have another round tonight!” Gil crowed, adding a new lyric (even though they weren’t drinking). 

 

Herc chuckled, echoing Gilbert’s sentiment. “Let’s have another round tonight.” 

 

“Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away, no matter what they tell you! Raise a glass to the four of us, tomorrow they’ll be more of us, telling the story of tonight!” 

 

Gil and Alex sang a quiet melody, “Raise a glass to freedom…” 

 

“They’ll tell the story of tonight.” John and Hercules countered. 

 

“They’ll tell the story of tonight….” 

 

And if anyone on the street could hear the singing from the churchyard, they gave no indication other than a faint smile, and perhaps a gentle hum along with the words. 

 

… 

 

All too soon, the sun was sliding below the horizon, and the four had to return to their homes. They each stood, stretched slowly, and looked around at the other three. Silence was falling rapidly, from the street and from the friends gathered at the church. 

 

The decision for a group hug was unanimous. The four boys, who’d been nicknamed the Revolutionary Set all those years ago, and truly lived up to the name, stood together with their heads leaning on each others shoulders. After some time, they broke apart and headed home, each going his separate way throughout the city. 

 

It may have been a goodbye, but it certainly wasn’t forever. Their paths would cross again one day. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry this took so long but hey guess what I'm first chair clarinet in my band so my work payed off everyone! 
> 
> Anyways this isn't done we got more sweetness and letter writing n stuff to get through so hold on. 
> 
> ~RCR


	18. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and his friends trade letters from their respective states. They catch each other up on news, and more.

 

 

To John, Gilbert, and Hercules-

 

I suppose by the time you get this you’ll already have heard about the scandal. News doesn’t travel very quickly out here, what with all the houses being a ridiculous distance apart. Honestly, would it kill them to move everything a little closer together? I was taking a message to our neighbors for Dad, and it took me a good hour to ride over to their house. They’re our  _ neighbors.  _ This is nonsense. 

 

But anyways, you’ll have definitely heard about the scandal, because it happened in New York City and not rural Virginia. Can you believe it? I never thought something like this could happen. We knew Wolcott, remember? If you had told me this would happen back then, I would have laughed outright. I can’t believe this. 

  
That poor woman. Mrs. Reynolds, right? There were a couple different stories dancing around down here, and no one can pinpoint exactly what happened. 

 

I simply cannot believe the man would write a pamphlet about it. Honestly, Wolcott, no need to drag your own name through the mud. I read a little bit of it, and by that I mean I stole a copy from Dad’s study late at night. 

 

Although Wolcott when I knew him was never extremely eloquent, so I am just a little bit impressed that he managed to go on for so long about an affair. Damn. 

 

Moving on. How are things up north? The weather’s been getting a little cooler down here, and most of the farms and plantations are wrapping up the harvest season. Maybe you all can come down to Virginia, or I can go back up to New York and we can spend some time during the winter together? If we do that it might be wiser to come down here, for the weather will be milder, and less people means less possibility for illness. 

 

Perhaps not, though. Dad has been feeling rather out of it for the past week or so, but the doctor says there shouldn’t be anything wrong. Personally, I think that doctor is shite because...well, it’s not important. He’s shite. 

 

Are you guys still attending school? How’s that going? Is everything alright? Gil, how’s Evangeline, and the Millers? Has she taken up piano yet? You mentioned when you last wrote that she had taken a liking to banging on the keys. I still can’t believe that you managed to find that piano. 

 

Herc, how’s the shop? How’s Matthew? Do you have any more interesting customer stories? And how is Lex the cat? 

 

John, your shoulder hasn’t been bothering you any more, right? I don’t even want to know how you managed to pull that old wound so badly. Spare me the gory details and get better, okay? And say hi to Mr. Laurens. Oh, and tell him and Matthew and the Millers that Mom and Dad say “hi” as well. 

 

I have to go now, because I can hear Dad calling for me. I’ll write again soon, and hopefully I can see you all in person as soon as possible. 

 

Your affectionate friend, 

 

Alexander Hamilton-Washington

 

… 

 

To Alexander-

 

This is John writing, with Gil and Herc leaning over my shoulder and offering commentary and telling me what to put down. I was elected for the task of writing this because, as Gilbert put it, “I have handwriting that is actually legible and not the work of a drunk chicken”. I’m fairly certain this was a jibe aimed at Hercules for a quick note he wrote last week, and if you’d have seen it you would have understood. It really did look like a drunk chicken wrote it. 

 

As for the scandal you mentioned in your last letter, it was pretty much the only thing the newspapers would write about for ages. It’s starting to die out a little now, but a few politicians, like our favorite pink- coated Virginian, seem determined to keep it alive and kicking for as long as possible. 

 

Poor Mrs. Reynolds indeed. The newspapers have done very little else but slander her. Damn Wolcott for his foolishness, is what Herc says. He should’ve had a bit more sense, Gil adds. 

 

We all miss you up here, and Dad says to say hello to the Washingtons. Evangeline Miller said her first words, by the way, and Gil wouldn’t shut up about it for the longest time. It was pretty cute, though. She said “Bapa” and “Mama”. We all think the first word was meant to be “Papa”, but you know how little kids are. Or not. I mean, even I had trouble remembering what kids are like. Most of my siblings are older now. Anyways. 

 

Herc says that Matthew is sending his best, and also to tell Mr. Washington that we could really use him back because most of the public seems pretty discontent with President Adams. Of course, we know how you must feel about Adams. Gil is saying right now that he’s surprised we didn’t get ten more paragraphs of you ranting about how much you hate him. 

 

Heh. Remember when you told us that story about how you tripped over a cat and nearly pulled off Adams’s wig? Wish we could’ve seen that. 

 

We’re sorry to hear about Mr. Washington feeling ill. As for coming down to Virginia, to which Gil says enthusiastically, would be “Vrayment incroyable.” He also says I spelled that wrong. But no matter, we’re all dying to see you again. 

 

Gilbert also wants to add that Rebecca says to tell Mr. Washington not to try bloodletting because she thinks it’s stupid. Hercules is also adding that he agrees. 

 

We saw Mr. Jefferson a few days ago and he asked about you. We told him that you’d gone back to Virginia with the Washingtons. I’m pretty sure that he was trying not to smile, but he said, “Sorry to hear that, boys. Hope you get to see your little friend sometime soon.” Then he patted Gil on the shoulder and walked off. By the way, I’m pretty sure that his pink coat has gotten even more ridiculous. 

 

Anyways, the candle I’m using is about to burn itself out, and my hand is cramping, and I think I might be running out of ink, so I’m going to cut it off here. Sending loads of affection from New York City, your friends, 

 

John Laurens, Hercules Mulligan, and Gilbert Lafayette- Miller. 

 

p.s. Gil says that he’s decided to copy a page from your book and hyphenate the Miller’s surname with his own. He says it’s pretty neat. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE STORY WASN'T DONE. NOT DONE YET GUYS. We still have some time, dear readers. ~RCR


	19. It's Just Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story might not be dead but guess who is. I'm an awful person.

 

Time marched on. Alex never got around to going up to New York, nor did the other three boys come down to Virginia. The letters they’d exchanged in the meantime made it easy to understand why. 

 

_ Dad’s still sick. He’s been getting a little worse and the doctors are starting to worry. _

 

_ We all hope that Mr. Washington starts feeling better soon, Alex.  _

 

_ Guys, I’m really starting to get scared. Dad’s been getting a lot worse, and yesterday we were reading and he coughed a little bit of blood. He tried to hide it but I saw it anyways. I don’t think the doctors are helping.  _

 

The day the letter came was a bright, sunny one, with few clouds in the sky and a gentle breeze blowing through the city. 

 

Hercules had gone outside to grab the letter that a messenger on horseback had brought. “Another one from your friend in Virginia!” he announced cheerily. “Have a good day, Mr. Mulligan.” 

 

“You too, Mr. Andrews.” Hercules called over his shoulder as he went inside, picking the wax seal off the paper and unfolding it. Hopefully it was good news. 

 

He scanned the first couple lines, stopped dead, and slowly released the paper. It drifted to the floor, landing face up where he could still see the awful words written in Alexander’s neat hand. 

 

_ I guess you’ll see it in the papers soon if you haven't already. Dad’s dead. The doctors are saying it’s quinsy. They said they did all they could, of course they said that, but it makes no difference. Mom’s doing the best she can.  _

 

_ If you guys could get down here soon that would be great. I really miss you.  _

 

Hercules was already out the door and tearing through the streets to find John and Gilbert.  __

  
  


Gilbert had been reading to Evangeline when a great pounding had echoed against the door. He closed the book and let his little sister slide off his lap. Since John and Rebecca had gone out on a walk, he was a little concerned about who it could be. 

 

When he saw Hercules, he opened the door immediately. “Hercules, mon ami! What is it? You look distressed.” 

 

His friend was panting, though it wasn’t far from the Miller’s home to Matthew’s shop. He’d clearly sprinted all the way, so whatever it was must be of dire importance. 

 

“I just got a letter from Alexander. Do you know where John is? He needs to see this.” Herc looked ready to turn around and run back out into the streets in search of their other friend. But before he could, Gilbert grabbed him by the arm. 

 

“What was in the letter, Hercules?” 

 

“Washington is dead.” 

 

… 

 

After that announcement, Gil had to sit down. He barely noticed Hercules sprint out the door, yelling behind him that he was going to find John and tell him the news. Evangeline sat next to him, swinging her short legs against the couch. She was looking up at him with big curious eyes, clearly not comprehending the situation. 

 

The door opened again, and Gilbert distractedly murmured, “Herc, mon ami? Is that you? Did you find John?” 

 

“No, Gil, it’s just us. Did Hercules come by?” John Miller called back, coming into the room with Gilbert and Evangeline. He frowned when he saw his son’s face. “Hey, what’s the matter?” 

 

“Hercules got a letter from Alexander. Washington is dead.” 

 

Rebecca gasped. “No! Surely not.” 

 

At that moment, John and Hercules slipped into the house. “Hi, Miller family.” John greeted. “Did- did you guys hear what happened?” 

 

Everyone nodded, save for little Evangeline, who had no clue who this Washington fellow was and was very confused as to why everyone seemed so upset. 

  
  


The Miller’s home was silent for a long time that day. The three boys were gathered in Gil’s room. The first thing on the list of things they needed to do in the wake of this news was reread Alex’s letter until the words finally sank in. 

 

_ The doctors are saying it’s quinsy. They said they did all they could, of course they said that, but it makes no difference. Mom’s doing the best she can.  _

 

_ If you guys could get down here soon that would be great. I really miss you.  _

 

_ And the house is too quiet now. I can’t take the sound of silence anymore.  _

 

Step two was to acquire permission from all of their parents to go down to Virginia for who knew how long- as long as Alexander needed them there. 

 

That step took some haggling, but remarkably less than John expected. His dad agreed nearly instantly, to his surprise. 

 

“I’ve been meaning to return to South Carolina anyways. It’s been far too many years away from home. So I’ll come with you to Virginia, and then, hopefully if Mrs. Washington is willing to let you stay in her home, I’ll let you stay there for as long as your friend needs.” 

 

And all that was left was to get to Virginia. So John penned another letter to their dear friend, letting him know that they were so, so sorry and they were coming to Virginia soon. 

  
  


Alexander hadn’t done much for the past week or so. Neither had Mrs. Washington, either. And she had much more to deal with than he did. After all, she and Dad had been married for longer than he’d been alive. 

 

That still didn’t stop him from moping around Mount Vernon. He sulked in the library, sat under the trees, and lay in bed for longer than necessary. Memories coursed through his mind near constantly. 

 

_ “I love you, Martha. I’ll be fine. Like the doctors said, they’re doing everything they can. Now, where is Alexander? I haven’t seen my boy in days.”  _

_   
_ _ Alexander was actually lurking in the hall. He’d been told to stay away from his father’s room, out of fear that he’d get sick due to what his mother was calling “weak constitution”.  _

 

_ “Undoubtedly standing right outside the door, aren’t you, Alex?”  _

 

_ Damn. Caught. He opened the door and gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”  _

 

_ Martha Washington sighed. “I swear, it’s like herding cats. I do my best, though, don’t I?”  _

 

_ “And you make far more headway than anyone else I know.” George Washington chuckled. He patted the bed beside him. “Come here, son.”  _

 

_ He sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, unsure of what to do. The last time someone this close to Alex had been sick, it had been his mother, and she had died. The memory brought tears to his eyes, and he swiped a hand under them angrily.  _

 

_ Washington grabbed his arm. “Son, my dear Alexander. There’s no need for that. It’s going to be alright. You did so well all your life, you don’t need me.”  _

 

_ Now there were tears. He couldn’t even try to stop them anymore. “But I don’t want to! I lost my mum, and my father left, and my cousin killed himself and I haven’t heard from my brother in years and I almost lost John once during the war and I can’t lose you too! I can’t, Dad!” Alex fell forward, burying his face in the blanket. His father sighed and pulled him close.  _

 

_ “My boy, my boy, my son, my Alexander. I know, I know, and I’m so, so sorry. You know I don’t want to go, dear boy. But we all have to, eventually. I’ve been here a long time, and you know, I’m so glad my horse nearly ran into you all those years ago.”  _

 

_ At that, Alexander gave a sort of breathless laugh. “Me too, Dad.”  _

 

_ Martha Washington woke him late that night with the words, “He wanted you to know that he loved you and he was so, so proud.”  _

 

_ The funeral passed in a blur. Everything after that was a blur. He barely remembered writing a letter to his friends until he got the response saying that they were coming to Virginia.  _

 

When Alexander opens the door approximately three weeks after his father died to see his friends standing on the porch, he throws himself into John’s arms. 

 

The other boy doesn’t say anything, just hugs him back. Gilbert and Hercules wrap their arms around the pair as well (the gifts of being the taller friend). 

 

Even though it’s been a very long time since the four have been together, no “I missed you”s are uttered just yet. Right now, the only thing they’re doing is comforting their friend, and sharing in the loss; not just in this family, but soon to be in the entire country. 

 

But the entire country isn’t losing a father, and so the entire country does not matter right now. 

 

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we've got one more chapter left, guys. It's been a long road. ~RedCoatsRedder


	20. Teach Us How to Say Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight years later, the Revolutionary Set is reunited in New York City.

 

_ Eight years later…. _

 

Mr. John Laurens straightened the lapels of his grey frock coat. Looking out the window, he saw the landscape roll past outside the window of the carriage he was traveling in. It had been a long drive from South Carolina, and he was eager to get to New York City, if only to stretch his legs.    
  
Fortunately, they were at most a two hours ride away from the city. John leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. 

 

It had been three years since he and his father left the city to return to South Carolina and his family home. In those three years, he’d kept correspondence with his three dear friends, Hercules Mulligan, Gilbert de Lafayette-Miller, and Alexander Hamilton-Washington. They hadn’t been in the same place since… oh, it must have been six years, now. They’d come for a visit one summer. What a time that had been. 

 

Letters just weren’t the same, though. And the torrents of words had died down over time. Now, he received word from them once, maybe twice, a month. 

 

But now, he was headed up to good old New York, on a business mission for his father. Just like he had so long ago, when all four of them had lived in the city for a time. Alexander’s late father, George Washington, had been president then. Now, it was their old acquaintance, Thomas Jefferson. 

  
Politics annoyed John these days, especially with that pompous man in charge of the entire country. As such, he didn’t really follow them as eagerly as he used to. Especially since he could no longer see Alex’s face as he ranted about all of the workings of the country. It just wasn’t as fascinating without his friend there. 

 

Sighing, he flipped open his sketchbook. He’d picked up the hobby in the last few years, and to his, and his family’s, surprise, he was actually quite good. Particularly at drawing turtles. Shuffling around for a charcoal pencil, he braced the paper against his knee and carefully outlined the hind foot of one of his turtles. 

 

The rattling of the carriage’s wheel’s on cobblestone prompted him to lift his head and gaze out the window once more. They were getting into the city proper, now. He hadn’t noticed, being as focused on his drawing as he was. Rapping on the side of the carriage, he gave the driver instructions to a small inn that he remembered. 

 

Bag slung over his shoulder, he went inside and paid for a few days’ stay. The innkeeper seemed bored, and said, “Room number ten, mister Laurens.” with a yawn. 

 

The room was alright. It seemed as though the last person who had stayed here got violently drunk, because it sort of smelled like alcohol. John let his bag fall onto the bed, and ventured back out into the city. 

 

He breathed in deeply, and immediately coughed, as he inhaled a lungful of smoke from a nearby shop. Shaking his head slightly, John grinned.  _ It’s good to be back.  _

 

As he wandered around the streets, memories of the time spent here coming back to him, John wondered if any of his friends would be around. He knew that Hercules had opened his own shop not too long ago, and Matthew had retired to the outskirts of the city to take up gardening. Gilbert was actually on his way back from France. His ship should be anchoring… tomorrow, was the date his last letter had said. 

 

And, this was embarrassing, but John didn’t actually know where Alexander was. He hadn’t written in a month, and his last letter had just mentioned that he was just starting in a new job and he was looking forward to the change. 

 

So John contented himself to wandering around the city that had once been his home, and when the sun set, he returned to his room at the inn. As he passed through the inn’s dining room, the innkeeper called his name. 

 

“Mister Laurens! Some chap came by with a note for you, said it was from someone important, and you’d understand.” The man waved a piece of folded paper. 

 

John took the note, and headed up to his room. Flopping down on his bed (it made a creaking sound that was a little foreboding), he unfolded the note. 

 

It only contained five words, five words written in a very familiar hand. 

 

_ Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard.  _

  
  


Gilbert de Lafayette-Miller stood at the railing of a ship, his coat buttoned to his throat, taking deep breaths and trying desperately not to be ill. It had been far too long since he’d been on a ship, and his sea legs had suffered greatly. 

 

He could not wait to be back on dry land. Plus, there was no post on a boat, and he missed being able to communicate with his friends and family. Gil had found his own little flat in the middle of the city, It was actually close to dear Hercules’s shop, so at least he could see one of his friends regularly. 

 

Of course, life had pulled the four of them in different directions. Four twenty-five year olds can hardly be expected to remain in one spot for very long, especially when the world seemed to be calling for them. He, after all, was returning across the ocean from France. 

 

And John was in South Carolina, and Alexander… well, where, was he? Probably Virginia, after all, his mother did have quite a big house to herself. But he didn’t really know what was going on with his smallest friend. 

 

Never mind that now. Gil could see the city coming closer, as the ship drew slowly into the harbor.  He’d never been so happy to see land in his entire life. 

 

When the crew dropped the gangplank, he practically danced down. The thumping of worn out wooden planks beneath his feet had never sounded sweeter. As much as he would have liked to kiss the ground, there were a lot of people around, and the ground was kind of disgusting. As if to solidify the fact that kissing the ground would be a very bad idea, a nearby ship dumped a bucket of something that had probably been fish at one point onto the planks. 

 

Gil grimaced and moved on, going to collect his luggage. 

 

His parents’ house was a lot quieter now that he had his own place, but Gilbert knew they were home because a sweet, soft melody was drifting faintly out a slightly opened window. Evangeline was really getting quite good. As he listened, the tempo suddenly increased tenfold and the music sounded like...like... beautiful chaos, that was it. 

 

He knocked on the door. The piano music came to a sudden halt, and quick footsteps approached the door. It was flung open, and his ten year old sister was standing in front of him. She squealed loudly, and dashed forward to hug him. 

 

Gil smiled widely and picked up his little sister, spinning her around. “Salut, Evangeline! I missed you very much.” 

 

She beamed up at him. “I missed you too, Gilly!” She darted back into the house, calling loudly as she went. “Mommy! Daddy! Gilly’s home!” 

 

John and Rebecca Miller descended the stairs nearly as rapidly as their daughter had come rushing to the door. Rebecca sighed in relief; there was always a chance that a ship could sink, after all. She hugged her eldest tightly, and stepped back, wiping a tear out of the corner of her eye. John clapped his son on the shoulder, before he too pulled Gil into a hug. 

 

“We missed you, Gilbert. Welcome home, son.” 

 

Suddenly Rebecca let out a soft “oh!” sound. She hurried into the parlour, and came back with a bundle of letters. “These came for you while you are away. Most of them are from your friends, but there’s one that didn’t have an address on it. The handwriting is familiar, though. I just can’t quite place whose it is.” 

 

Gil took the letters, turning them over in his hands. “Thank you, Mama. I’ll look through them later.” 

 

Evangeline took him by his free hand and tugged him over to the piano. “Listen to what I learned, Gilly!” She launched back into the song she’d been playing earlier. 

 

For the next hour, the family spent their time laughing and dancing, happy to be together again. But when night fell, Gil picked up the letters, reading through them. He smiled softly at his friends’ words. 

 

Then, he picked up the note, unmarked except for his name. Inside, a five word message had been scrawled. 

 

_ Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard. _

  
  


Hercules Mulligan started his day off just like any other. He got up with the sun, fed his cat, Lex, and prepared his shop for the day’s business. 

 

When he was done eating his own breakfast, and had set everything he could possibly need for the first customer of the day, he opened the door and placed a little block of wood that read “Open” on it in the window. Matthew had made it for him actually, as a gift when he opened his shop. 

 

Herc smiled at the memory. He missed Matthew’s company. The older man’s home was too far for him to visit on a regular basis, especially with the busy torrent of people that passed through his shop. 

 

Matthew had retired four years ago. Hercules had been twenty-one, and on one fine summer day, the tailor had sat heavily with a sigh. 

 

_ “Hercules, I’m tired.”  _

 

_ “What are you talking about, Matthew?” Herc put down the spool of thread he’d been holding, pausing in his organizing of a shelf.  _

 

_ The older man sighed again. “I’m tired. Of the hustle and bustle of the city. Of the constant busy rush of this shop. Don’t get me wrong, I love the work, but I don’t want to keep doing it for years and years more. So my wife and I, we’ve saved money and we’ve gotten a little house with room for a garden and I’m going to retire.”  _

 

_ Hercules was glad he’d put down the spool of thread, because otherwise he would have dropped it. This was all a very sudden, rather unwelcome, shock. “What?”  _

 

_ Matthew stood, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to pass this shop on to you, Herc. You’re twenty-one, after all. It’s time you took over here, don’t you think? You’re talented, you’ve always done well. You’ll be fine.”  _

 

_ He paused. “Doesn’t mean I won’t miss you. Because I will. And change isn’t always bad, after all.”  _

 

The memory was shaken out of his mind by the sound of a gentleman’s footsteps echoing on the floor. Hercules smiled. “How can I help you today, sir?” 

 

As the morning turned to afternoon and the afternoon became evening, a steady stream of clients kept Hercules busy. He spent his day much the same as any other, nothing out of the ordinary. 

 

When the last customer left the store, Hercules closed and locked the door, removed his little wooden block from the window, and carefully put everything back in its proper place. Lex had a tendency to sneak downstairs in the night and play with the ribbons and thread, which created an unbearable mess come morning. 

 

He was just about to go upstairs when someone knocked loudly on his door. It wasn’t even worthy of being called a knock, it was more like someone frantically thumping their fist on the wood. 

 

Groaning, he turned and unlocked the door. “We’re closed. Come back tomorrow, it can’t be so urgent that it can’t wait until morning.” 

 

The messenger boy standing on the steps blinked. “Sorry sir. Didn’t realize you’d already closed. I have letter or somethin’ for you, don’t know who it’s from, though. He didn’t give me a name.” He held out a folded piece of paper. 

 

Herc took it from him, thanked him, and closed the door. He locked it again, called for Lex to make sure the cat wasn’t doing anything he shouldn’t be, and headed upstairs. 

 

In his exhaustion, he nearly forgot about the note, right up until he went to blow out the candle and remembered. He picked it up and unfolded it, reading the five words written there. 

 

_ Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard.  _

  
  


Alexander Hamilton-Washington had started his life twenty-five years ago on an island in the Caribbean. Back then, he’d just been Alexander Hamilton. His life from that point had been a very stormy sea, including some literal stormy seas. 

 

Now, twenty-five years from that point, he was standing on the porch of his family’s home, Mount Vernon, hugging his mother. A carriage was waiting in the drive, taking him to New York. 

 

“Bye Mom.” He whispered one last time. Martha Washington hugged him tightly again, and whispered back, “Goodbye, Alex.” 

 

He picked up his bag and walked down the steps, opening the door of the carriage and climbing inside. As the driver snapped the reins and the horses trotted off, he waved goodbye until he couldn’t see his mother standing on the steps. 

 

Since he’d lost his father eight years ago, he’d been living at Mount Vernon. The house was big and quiet, even when there had been three people living in it. Now, with only two, it had been almost like a tomb. Of course, part of that could be contributed to the aura of grief that had permeated the air for over a year. 

 

But the sun rose again, and again, and again, and eventually they started to smile more and laugh. 

 

Then, the letter came. The letter from the one person who was least likely to send Alexander a letter, except for maybe the King of England. The letter from Thomas Jefferson. 

 

Apparently the stuck up, pink coated ass had remembered the arguments that they had when his father had been President, because the letter was offering him a position on Jefferson’s cabinet, as Secretary of Treasury. 

 

Why Jefferson thought that hiring Alexander to work with him was a good idea was beyond him, but Alex wasn’t complaining. He’d always hoped to hold that position one day, but Adams hated him nearly as much as Jefferson did- or, as much as he thought Jefferson hated him. 

 

So that was why Alexander was on his way to New York City for the first time in eight years. He leaned back to watch the Virginian countryside pass by outside his window. He was on his way to see his friends, in the city where they’d had so many adventures. He knew they’d be there. Even if they didn’t write as much as they used to, he still knew that John was heading up to the city, Herc had his own shop, and Gil was home-bound from France. 

 

He was nervous. He knew he shouldn’t be, but he was. They hadn’t seen each other in person in six years. Hopefully, their friendship would prove to be as strong as he thought it was. 

 

_ You know it is,  _ the little voice in his head said, the one that sounded like his dad,  _ what you’ve all been through over time should be proof of that.  _

 

A bump in the road jolted Alexander back to consciousness. He blinked confusedly a few times; he must have fallen asleep. Outside the window, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of fire. In the distance, the city rose before him. 

 

Once they were in the city, Alex had the driver stop at the first inn that looked like he wouldn’t get robbed, murdered, or both within its walls. He still really didn’t like carriage travel. Too cramped. 

 

When he reached his room, he closed the door, let his bag fall, and collapsed onto the bed. The desk in the corner had a pen and ink bottle laid out on top of it, and the beginnings of an idea began to bloom in his mind. 

 

Pulling himself upright and raking his hair out of his eyes, Alexander grabbed three pieces of paper and wrote the same five-word message on each. 

 

_ Tomorrow at noon, Trinity Churchyard.  _

  
  


When the sun rose the next day, it brought with it the promise of good weather and a clear blue sky. It was under this clear blue sky that, at five minutes to noon, four young men set off from various locations around the city and headed towards Trinity Churchyard. 

 

Alexander Hamilton-Washington was the first one to arrive. He slipped into the churchyard silently, and settled in to wait. It was three minutes to noon. 

 

Roughly a minute and twenty seconds later, the gate opened again, this time letting in Hercules Mulligan and Gilbert de Lafayette-Miller, who had met up with each other while they walked. They had not yet spotted their friend when John Laurens arrived. 

 

“Johnny!” Hercules bellowed, and hugged him tightly. John returned the embrace, laughing. “Hey, Herc, Gil. I haven’t seen you guys in ages! What are you doing here?” 

 

Gilbert cocked his head. “We both got a note that told us to come to Trinity Churchyard today at noon.”    
  
John’s eyes widened in surprise. “So did I.” Then he smiled. “I think we know exactly who wrote them, though.” 

 

“Surprise,  _ mes amis. _ ” A fourth voice rang out. Alexander strolled towards his friends, a wide grin on his face. Anything else that he might have said was cut off when the other three rushed forward. 

 

“Group hug!” Someone shouted. It might have been Gilbert. Thankfully, the only person in the church was a priest, who, upon looking out the window and seeing the reunion going on, smiled and turned away. He’d never tell the four, but he’d seen their goodbye eight years prior and was glad they’d met up again. 

 

They were lying on the grass again, watching the sky overhead. Their chests were heaving with laughter as they were reunited once more. Letters were good and all, but there are some things that are best told in person. 

 

Alexander sat up. “Hey. I have some news.” 

 

The other three looked at him, curiosity in their eyes. 

 

“I was named Jefferson’s Secretary of the Treasury. So, I’m coming up to stay in New York for his term. That’s going to be at least four years, so I’ll get to see you all again, every day.” 

 

Gil tackled him back to the grass, whooping. “That’s wonderful, petit Alexandre! I always knew you’d be the best for that job.” Confusion suddenly crossed his face. “Jefferson, though? I thought you hated each other?” 

 

Alexander shrugged. “Guess he doesn’t hate me as much as I thought, or he’s just really desperate. Probably the latter, to be honest.” 

 

John laughed. “That’s awesome, Alex. You won’t get yelled at for talking in cabinet meetings anymore!” 

 

They quieted down for a few minutes, until Hercules asked, “John, what about you? Are you staying?”

 

The other boy sighed. “No. I have to go back to South Carolina in four days. Dad sent me up on a business trip for the plantation. He’s getting older, so he doesn’t like to make these trips anymore, that’s why he sent me. Besides-” he hesitated, unsure if he wanted to tell them what his parents had said to him before he left. “They want me to get married.” 

 

His friends’ faces fell. “But, John,” Hercules frowned. “You always told us how you never really wanted to get married. Are they forcing you into this?” 

 

“Nah, they’re not doing anything yet.” John sighed. 

 

Gilbert butted in. “Just don’t. Don’t get married, don’t go back. Keep putting off your return, and if you do have to return, come back to New York the first chance you get. We’ll help.” 

 

“Yeah!” Alex chimed in. “We’ll make up excuses to keep you here, like, you’re keeping us from foolishly investing in a doomed sailing company or something.” 

 

John laughed. “We don’t have to worry about it right now, anyways. Can we just spend some time catching up? I don’t think we’ve been in the same place, all four of us, for six years.” 

 

“Has it been that long?” 

 

“Too long.” 

 

Fortunately, no one came into the churchyard. A group of older women passed by the gates, pausing to shoot disapproving looks at the four young men laughing on the grass inside. But no one told them to leave. They were in their own world for the next few hours, until Hercules had the idea to go around the city and visit some of their old adventuring grounds. 

 

With the sun getting lower in the sky, the four walked all over the city, pointing out every place where they’d made memories, gotten into trouble, or both. It was mostly both. 

 

“Hey, check it out, that’s where we used to go to school! Remember that professor that hated me?” 

 

“Look, it’s the shipyard where we found Lex! He ran up a mast, do you remember that?” 

 

“There’s the government’s offices! That’s where I work now!” 

 

Eventually their reunion tour of the city led them to Hercules’s shop, where he invited them inside. Lex immediately started twining around everyone’s legs. Even though it had been a long time, the cat still recognized it’s old friends.  

 

The sun was setting as they sat at Hercules’s table, mugs of tea and coffee, in Alex’s case (“nO Alex you can’t have coffee this late” “fight me Herc coffee is for all day”).    
  


Silence fell, but that was alright. Sometimes, when you’ve known someone for a long while, you can be just as comfortable silent in their presence as if you were having a lively conversation. No words needed.    
  
Until, Alex spoke up. “You know, all those years we spent together, I don’t think it ever occurred to us that we would have to say goodbye one day. And you know, I don’t think we ever really did.” 

 

“We’re not the type of people who can just say goodbye.” John grinned. “If we ever said goodbye for real there would have to be a parade, with a salute and everything.” 

 

Hercules lifted his mug. “Here’s to goodbyes that always end in hellos.” 

 

Gil stared at him. “Herc, mon ami, that was a quote worthy of the history books.” 

 

And the moment was broken. The four dissolved into laughter once more. In the midst of the giggling and the guffawing and the tears that leaked out of the corners of their eyes, Alex lifted his mug too. 

 

“Raise a glass to freedom, and to family that doesn’t end in blood.” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who stuck with the story to the very end. Your support kept me going. This has been a good long journey and now it’s goodbye. I don’t think it occurred to me that I’d have to say goodbye to this story, either. But this was a real joy to write. Thank you, so, so much. Yours truly, RedCoatsRedder.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all liked that! Leave a comment or a kudos please! Also, if you haven't read my story Children of the Revolution, I highly recommend doing so because this one will make a lot more sense.


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